No Man's Land
by ILikeMovies
Summary: A bomb goes off on a train in the middle of nowhere, and Natasha and Steve have to try save the lives of the passengers. They're injured and alone against a mad man set on revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys. To those of you who have been kind enough to read my other Captain America/Avengers stories, 'Unbreakable Bond' and 'Even Super Soldiers Fall', I will start writing the sequels soon, it's just that I've had this plot in my mind for so long and I had to turn it into a story. Anyway, enjoy! And thanks for reading! **

**And remember, this is fictional and, sadly, Steve and Natasha and any associated agents of SHIELD are not mine!**

* * *

They were on a train in the middle of nowhere, and it was snowing outside. The kind of snow where you can't see more than five meters in front of you and your feet sink into the snow no matter how tentatively and carefully you hop. But, inside the train it was hot and, even though the windows were frosted on the outside, Natasha was forced to pull off her scarf and thick jacket as she made her way to her seat gingerly.

She was in regular clothing. Black skinny jeans with knee-high black leather boots, a tight fitting grey top that accentuated her figure and got more than a few once-overs from the men sitting in their seats as she confidently strutted down the aisle to her own allocated seat. Behind her, Steve walked slowly and carefully, his eyes scanning the surrounding people as if searching for a potential threat. His blue jeans and loose red hoodie that matched his sneakers looked good on his strong physique and drew more than a few stares from almost every woman, not that Steve noticed. Natasha did.

Fury's instructions had been fairly simple and very clear. Natasha had listened intently, easily mapping out the entrance and escape route as she had looked at the blueprints of the train and memorized the exact route the train would be following in order to get from Moscow to Vladivostok. And it was snowing. Technically, the train probably shouldn't have even been functioning, a blizzard was threatening to start, but, it was functioning, it was going, because it had to. Since the blizzard was a threat and not a definite, but Natasha couldn't help but think about whether that had been the right choice.

She slowly slid into her black leather seat and tossed her jacket and scarf beside her and watched as Steve slid into the seat across from hers and slowly turned his head towards the window as he folded his jacket and placed it beside him. His blond hair stuck out beneath the blue beanie he wore and his nose was red from the cold. Natasha smiled when Steve absentmindedly rubbed his hand over his nose in an attempt to warm it up. His hands were large and strong and soft, and they made fists the size of trucks.

"Tickets?" The attendant asked in a Russian accent as she stood beside them. Her blonde hair was pulled back into an untidy bun that left golden strands to hang loosely over her green eyes. Her cheeks were rosy, and it made her look even younger. She couldn't have been older than twenty. Natasha rifled through her coat and pulled out her ticket a second before Steve did. She handed it to the lady and turned and smiled at Steve as he gave the attendant his. He shrugged and returned his gaze to the window, his blue eyes following the fast-falling snow outside as the train began moving and finally picked up speed.

The white light from outside illuminated Steve and made him look so young and innocent and Natasha found it hard to believe that he had been through so much more than most people, things that no one should have ever experienced. But he was still so strong and brave and he still managed to see the best in people, no matter what. And that was why Natasha respected him so much.

Familiar territory for Natasha. Back where it all began. She looked over her shoulder and when she turned around she noticed the way Steve was tensing slightly. He sat forward with his hands on the wooden table, clasped tightly together, and his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched a man walk out of the previous compartment and into theirs. His hands were in his pockets and he was tense,_ too_ tense, and he was scanning the crowd worriedly as if he expected to get caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. He was up to something. Natasha could tell by watching his body language as he squeezed through the aisle. She turned back and faced Steve and felt the thrill of a fight beginning to bubble in her stomach.

Natasha and Steve had two jobs. Fury had informed them that SHIELD had been warned of a potential bomb threat on the Trans-Siberian Railway and that it was for the weekend when the US president and multiple other leaders from around the world were meant to meet up in Vladivostok to celebrate the opening of some important building for meetings that "united the nations and made history". Some phony political stuff Natasha really had no interest in.

The only thing she cared about was that the American president, the British Prime Minister and the Greek president all sat in the last compartment, and that it was her job to keep them, and the passengers on the train, safe. The American president had specifically requested SHIELD, and further asked for Steve, America's superhero, and the best trained assassin SHIELD had available. Natasha had been there, she had been available, and she was good, so they chose her to accompany Steve. She had nothing better to do so she agreed, and, if she was honest, she had wanted to anyway.

"Your five o'clock, Nat." Steve whispered, and he moved his head slightly to gesture towards the man. Steve had already shifted to the edge of his seat and Natasha could practically see the adrenaline coursing through his body telling him to get up and move. She felt it, too. She turned and watched the man a moment longer, and turned around just as his cold grey eyes met hers. His black jacket stood out against his harsh pale skin and his gray eyes matched his gray hair. But he didn't look old, at least not older than forty.

"You ready, Cap?" Natasha asked, almost excitedly as she tensed out her cold fingers. She stretched her neck and ran a hand through her bright red hair. Her heartbeat was steady and slow, her mind was clear, and her body was relaxed. Natasha could fight, and she could fight well, and she enjoyed it, so she wasn't worried.

"Don't make a scene. We follow him and wait to see where he's going and what he's doing before we make a move." Steve said. No one knew that the presidents of the world were on that train, and no one was supposed to know. Natasha and Steve wanted to keep it that way.

"Okay, you go to the last compartment, I'll stop this guy from going in." Natasha said. The guy was swiftly making his way towards the last compartment, where the president was. She stood up and allowed Steve to gently push past her as he speed walked to the last compartment and stepped through the door. The last three compartments on the train held Natasha and Steve, then a completely empty compartment, and then the president and prime minister and president.

Natasha stepped in front of the guy and batted her eyelids flirtatiously. The man tried to push past her but she placed a gentle had on his arm and pulled him towards her and turned around so he was facing the way he came in and she was facing the door leading to the last compartment. "Алло," Natasha greeted in Russian, but she squinted and smiled when she saw the look of confusion on the man's face. He wasn't Russian. "Hi," she tried again, and this time the man smiled.

"Hello." He replied. He was English, by the sounds of it he was from Manchester. His voice was gruff and deep and low, kind of like a smoker who's been smoking for far too long. His gaze lowered to Natasha's chest and she decided to take full advantage of his distraction. She pushed her chest out and placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer and licked her lips.

"Want to come back to my booth?" She asked, suggestively, hoping he would get the message and be distracted enough to follow her to the booth and allow Natasha enough time to properly determine whether he was a threat or not. The man looked tempted as his gaze lingered on her chest, but he suddenly hopped backwards and held his hands in the air as he backed away from her. He suddenly looked sweaty and even more pale and his gaze was darting around the compartment as he breathed heavily. He was definitely guilty of something.

Natasha walked towards him and grabbed his arm so tightly that he gasped in pain and tried to squirm away but Natasha's grip was unrelenting and she dragged him to her booth. She shoved him down and slid in beside him as she glanced around the room. No one had even looked up from their laptops or books or conversations. "What are you up to?" Natasha asked him. Her right hand was on his knee and it was squeezing it so hard that she could feel his bones shifting under her touch. He yelped in pain and Natasha giggled in a attempt to make it look as though they were lovers having lighthearted fun. No one even noticed them.

"What are you doing, woman?" He asked, his voice was pinched in pain and his eyes were screwed shut. Natasha wrapped her left hand around his throat and squeezed just tight enough to let him know she could snap his neck at any moment, but just loose enough so it looked harmless to anyone who happened to see her. "Let go of me!" He yelled as he tried to squirm away, but Natasha only tightened her grip.

She let go of his knee and used her right hand to search his pockets. She pulled a cellphone out of his pocket and held it loosely in her hand. It had been modified. "You know who's on this train." Natasha stated as she inspected the phone, all the while her hand remained tightened on the man's neck. He was hyperventilating and sweating and almost whimpering, and his eyes widened as he watched Natasha look at the cellphone. "How do you know who's on this train?" She asked, as she slipped the phone into her jeans pocket.

The man didn't answer so she tightened her grip on his neck and shoved her hand down between his legs and squeezed harder than she meant to. He writhed in agony and, this time, people did look up, so Natasha stood and pulled him by his neck to the bathroom. She shoved him inside, careful to make it look playful to anyone who happened to be watching, and walked inside after him and locked the door behind her. Then, without the fear of prying eyes, she shoved him against the wall and held a hand around his neck and another held his hands together while her knee pushed into his groin mercilessly.

"I'm going to ask you one more time, because I don't really like repeating myself, especially to idiots like you. How do you know who's on the train?" Natasha asked. She could feel his hot breath fanning over her neck and cheek, and it smelt like cigarettes and vomit. She crinkled her nose in disgust. He still didn't answer her, he just kept squirming and writhing. So, Natasha released her grip on his hands and delivered a bone crushing blow to his stomach then took a step back and watched as he fell to the floor bonelessly and moaned in agony. She knelt beside him and whispered, "Now look what you've made me do, you made me repeat myself. So, one more time, how do you know who's on this train?"

"I was told." The guy answered as he struggled to breathe through the pain. Natasha stood to her full height and nodded, slowly.

"By who?" Natasha asked. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and fiddled with it as she watched the man try sit up only to fall back to the ground with a thud. He had a partner, which meant she needed to find out who the hell it was and save the lives of everyone on that train. It was her job. She briefly wondered where Steve was and if he had possibly found the other guy. She wondered if the president was safe.

By now, the train was in the middle of nowhere. Mountains and rocks and snow surrounded the railway. If anything were to happen, it would take a long, long time for help to arrive. They were in no man's land.

"The guy who paid me to do this." The guy answered as he managed to sit up with his back against the silver toilet. Natasha lifted her leg and, in one swift movement, kicked the guy in the stomach and he collapsed in on himself as he spluttered and gasped for air. Then, just like she had planned, he kept talking. He was weak, too weak to carry this out on his own, which meant he was telling the truth. "Some guy paid me to put the bomb on this train. Said he would get me off then blow the bomb and pay me. I just wanted the money so I said okay."

Natasha stared at the cellphone in her hand in horror. It was the detonator. If it rang, the train blew up, in the middle of nowhere, in the thick snow and below freezing temperatures. Everyone would die. "Where is he?" Natasha asked, kneeling beside the downed man once again and holding him up by his throat. The man was about to answer when there was a frantic knocking at the door.

"Natasha!" A yell emanated from outside. It was Steve. He sounded panicked and he was breathing so heavily Natasha could hear it through the door. "Nat!" He yelled again. Natasha stood up and ran to the door. She opened it quickly and found Steve standing outside, panting and sweating. Steve never looked panicked, and the fact that he did right then made Natasha's heart skip a beat and she could feel her palms grow clammy.

"Natasha, there's a bomb on the train. I tried to disarm it but its impossible. We need to get these people _off_ this train, right now." Steve said. And that's when the phone started ringing. It only rang for three seconds, but it felt like a lot longer. Natasha stared at it in horror and she pushed past Steve and ran towards the fifth compartment where the bomb had been placed in the bathroom. She didn't know why she did it but she did. Then, she felt a large hand wrap around her arm and pull her back.

She was shoved to the ground roughly and locked in the bathroom by Steve. The man wasn't in there anymore, and Natasha wished he was. If he had been, she would have killed him, made him suffer for his stupidity under her own hands. She heard Steve scream, "Get down!" And she yelled his name, but he didn't answer her. He was trying to save her life, but he was putting his in danger. She punched the door and pounded it and screamed his name over and over, but she got no reply other than desperate screams from people in the compartment. In three seconds, a lot can happen.

Then, she heard the boom and felt the ground beneath her shake. The force threw her against the wall and she fell to the floor. Her whole body stung as debris and drywall and concrete from the toilet and door and walls and ceiling rained down on her. Her ears were ringing and her eyes were watering and she couldn't breathe as she tried to stand. Then, a second shock wave knocked her over again and she hit her head on the basement. She fell to the ground but was quickly thrown up into the air again.

The train was falling off its tracks and down the mountainside. She was tossed around the tiny bathroom like a ragdoll and she could do nothing as the train continued its descent down the mountain. She was thinking of Steve. He had saved her life but she doubted he had survived the explosion, even with the serum. But, Steve was also stronger than anyone Natasha had ever met before, and maybe he had survived. She prayed he did. He deserved to live a lot more than she did. A _lot_ more.

The spinning and flying came to a halt suddenly and Natasha was thrown against the door one last time. She stayed on it, and she figured the train was on its side. She wanted to move, she wanted to look for Steve and find out if he was okay, but she couldn't. The world around her was still spinning and she couldn't get her body to move. She lay in a pathetic heap on the ground, seeing blurry images as blood trickled down her forehead and into her eyes. And she just kept wondering, _where was Steve?_

Then, everything turned into nothingness as blackness consumed her and the pain and worry all disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys! Thanks for the fantastic support and kind reviews so far! It means a lot! Just a reminder that this is fictional, so some facts are distorted in order to make the story more entertaining. **

* * *

Debris littered the ground and the air was so thick with dust and smoke that Natasha could hardly suck in enough oxygen to breathe. Her chest hurt with the effort of trying to bring in enough air. At first, she just lay there. She didn't open her eyes and she didn't move, mostly because she couldn't get her body to cooperate with her brain, but also because it hurt too much and she was too tired.

Her ears were ringing but she could still hear the muffled sound of creaking metal and what sounded like groans and desperate screams. Her head was pounding and she could feel drying blood on her forehead. She needed to move, she needed to get up and find Steve and find out if the president was okay. She needed to help the other passengers on that train, the ones that were lucky enough to survive. She needed to open her eyes.

It was difficult, they felt heavy and uncoordinated and her head pounded with the effort, but she persisted. Slowly, her eyes opened. At first, she couldn't seem to get them to open wider than slits, but after what felt like hours of trying, she managed to pry them open. The dim light sent daggers of pain through her eyes and she groaned and squeezed her eyes shut again. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and tensed as she prepared herself for the onslaught of pain that pierced her brain. She adjusted to the dim lighting eventually and managed to move her head just enough to take in her surroundings.

She was still lying sprawled out on the door, and the metal toilet and sink were still nailed to the floor adjacent to her. The train was definitely sideways. The walling and ceiling and flooring were almost completely destroyed and the debris from the metal and drywall and wood was still slowly drifting to the door and on top of Natasha. The glass and mirror were cracked, and the shards were sprinkled around Natasha. The room looked like a bomb had hit it. Natasha laughed quietly and bitterly, because a bomb had hit it, and her.

Natasha slowly lifted her hand to her head and gently prodded it, flinching when she hit a tender spot. She pulled her hand away and found blood on her fingers, but the bleeding was slow and of no immediate concern. She definitely had a concussion, though, if the nausea and headache were anything to go by. She gently tensed every part of her body and stretched out her limbs. Nothing was broken, and she wasn't particularly sore in any specific area, just stiff. As she moved to sit, the door below her shook and creaked and she froze.

The ringing in her ears was getting less persistent and softer, and she could hear everything. Moans, screams, cries, creaking metal, expanding wood, and wind tearing through the wood and metal. She stood quickly, ignoring the nausea and dizziness that accompanied the movement, then got a hold of the rail and placed her feet on the sink. She twisted her body so she was facing the door, and, easily and fluently, tightened her grip on the rail and let her feet drop. She slammed her feet down on the door until it splintered and broke and fell off its hinges.

Then she fell. She was tired and sore and the air was still thick with smoke, and she had mistakenly lost her grip on the rail. She landed with a thud and her headache spiked to new measures. But the groans and cries were louder, and she needed to help, and she needed to find Steve. She managed to stand on shaky legs and she stumbled as she tried to right herself. The train was completely on its side and it was difficult to find purchase on the wooden walling where there weren't holes or metal rods impaling it.

Natasha was taken aback by the scene in front of her. A dozen people were sprawled across the tilted train, groaning and crying and covered in dust and debris, one or two even pinned down by wooden pillars or metal beams. Three or four were motionless, and Natasha could tell from where she was standing that they were dead. Their injuries were too severe. One was impaled by a metal rod through the chest, and the other was covered in blood from a wound in her throat where a glass shard was imbedded, the other two had necks that were bent at unnatural angles. But the others were squirming and crying, and even though they were undoubtably injured, they were alive.

It was freezing. Half of the rear wall that attached the one compartment to the other was blown off, and wind was howling through the compartment, bringing in snow. Adrenaline coursed through Natasha's veins and she couldn't feel the cold as she ran through the shattered glass and torn leather and giant splinters of wood. The air was thick with dust and debris, and Natasha had to squint to see where she was going, but it was thinning out. In the very corner of the compartment she could just make out someone trying in vain to stand upright, but she couldn't see who it was. She ran towards the person anyway.

As she got closer, she could make out the familiar broad shoulders and huge physique. It was Steve, and he looked like he was hurt. As she got even closer, she could see that he really was struggling to stand upright. The entire right side of his face was covered in still wet blood and he was breathing heavily, and unevenly, like he was struggling to draw in enough air. "Steve?" She yelled as she rushed forward and placed a comforting hand on his arm. He was unsteady on his feet and Natasha felt worry boiling up in her stomach. Even if he had a concussion, even if he had a few broken ribs, it didn't justify why he was so unsteady and shaky on his feet. He was a super soldier.

"You okay?" Steve asked, once he managed to get himself upright and stay that way without Natasha's support. He turned to look at her and his eyes quickly scanned the room.

"Yeah, I'm okay. You don't look so good, though." Natasha said. Steve shook his head and ran a finger along her hairline, wiping away the blood. Then he ran a hand down her right arm and gently rubbed it as if to comfort her, even though she didn't need it, but she had a feeling it was more for his reassurance than for hers.

"I'm good. We need to help these people." Steve said, and he pushed past Natasha and staggered over to the nearest person. The wind was blowing Natasha's bloodied and dusty hair into her face and she almost tripped a few times as she followed Steve there. The person was trapped under a wooden beam, and squirming and writhing underneath. He was crying and screaming, and as he saw Steve kneel beside him he only started sobbing louder and his hands found purchase on Steve's jeans and red jacket.

"Are you hurt, sir?" Steve asked slowly, as he checked the man's pulse and listened to his breathing. The man shook his head. "Okay, sir, I'm going to lift this, okay?" Steve said as he made gestures towards the wooden beam in case the man failed to understand him. The man nodded again, and Steve stood with a pained groan and a slight wobble. He grabbed the wooden beam to steady himself and he suddenly looked like he was about to collapse, but he quickly composed himself and gave a dismissive wave. Natasha ran forward and held the other side of the beam as Steve gripped it. Steve looked up and shook his head as his blue eyes met Natasha's, and he said, "No, Nat, go check in the other compartments. Check with the Presidents and Prime Minister. I'm going to help these people and find that man."

Natasha had almost forgotten about the man in the bathroom, and now that she remembered, she wanted to find him, too. She wanted to beat him to a pulp and make him suffer the consequences of injuring dozens of people and killing even more. And, she wanted to find out who had hired him. She needed to. Natasha nodded and clambered over the debris and tried to shield herself as much as possible from the wind as she made her way to the last compartment where the Presidents and Prime Minister were.

In the second last compartment, all the bodyguards and security that had been stationed by the doors were either unconscious or gone. The windows were shattered and Natasha glanced through them. The bodyguards lay on the mountainside, unmoving, and amongst at least a dozen other bodies. They were already almost covered in snow and Natasha knew they were dead. As unfortunate as it was, she had to face the truth. The only bodyguards remaining were the two unconscious ones who lay sprawled across the room. One was lying sprawled out over a table and destroyed leather chair. He was bleeding from a wound on his head and another on his cheek and they were staining his blond hair red, and the blood was soaking into the collar of his shirt. His lean body looked limp and lifeless, but as Natasha placed her hand over his neck, she felt a weak pulse and she sighed in relief. She gently pulled the man to the ground and propped his head on a piece of wood that had been blown off the wall.

The other man was lying twisted around a wooden pillar and bleeding from a deep wound in his chest. It stained his white shirt red, but the blood was mostly hidden by the black suit. His breathing was shallow and uneven and his usually tanned skin was pale. His curly brown hair hung over his face and he was bleeding from his nose. He was stirring and Natasha knelt beside him as his eyes fluttered open. His green eyes searched the room frantically and Natasha cupped his chin in her hand and directed his gaze to her. For a second, he didn't do anything, but as he tried to sit up he screamed in pain and sank back down to the ground.

"Hey, hey, easy. Easy." Natasha said as she wrapped her hand around his arm and wiped blood from his nose with her other. His muscles were tense and firm under her touch and she could feel him trembling. "I need you to relax." Natasha glanced at the compartment door that led into the very last compartment, and she wondered whether the President was still alive. Although, those two compartments seemed much less affected by the bomb than the third one had been. "What's your name?"

"Luke." The man replied, he was the English Prime Minister's bodyguard. His voice was soft and weak and pained. He looked so young, and he looked scared. Natasha grabbed his suit jacket in her hands and tore the bottom bit off and wrapped it around her knuckles. She placed her hands under Luke's armpits and glanced at the floor around him, and cleared any nearby debris with a kick of the foot.

"Okay, Luke. Listen to me, and focus only on me. I'm going to move you into a lying position. Okay?" Natasha said quietly, trying to keep her voice calm as she saw Luke's eyes tear up. He was shivering too, and Natasha realized how cold it was. But, there was nothing she could use to cover him in that compartment. She looked up when she heard a pained groan coming from the other compartment. It was Steve's, and it was followed by someone else's. "This is going to hurt." Natasha warned Luke as she returned her attention to him.

She tightened her grip on him and pulled him until he was lying on the ground and on his back. He cried out at first, but he bit his lip and remained quiet as Natasha gently prodded him and checked for any internal injuries or broken bones. His stomach felt rigid to the touch, and Natasha had to keep her face emotionless as she pushed it, even when Luke tensed and trembled under her touch, because she didn't want to freak him out more than he already was. She pulled the material of his shirt away from his wound and carefully examined it. It was about half an inch deep and four inches long and cut into his pectoral muscles, and it was surrounded by other small lacerations. Tiny shards of glass were imbedded in the wound, but Natasha couldn't do anything about it, not with slightly shaky hands, and no medical equipment. So, she just pulled the material from around her knuckles off and pressed it against the wound and secured it as best she could.

"Take slow, deep breaths for me. Okay?" She said, and she made her best attempt at a smile to try and calm an almost hyperventilating Luke down. He was holding in tears, and his green eyes were clouded. He was in pain, and Natasha could do nothing about it. He did as he was told, even though he was struggling. He was so young, and he was _so scared,_ and for some unknown reason that Natasha didn't really want to acknowledge, she felt like she needed to protect him. She stood to her feet, ignoring the pain that spiked in her head, and half-ran, half-stumbled to the shredded couches on the other side of the room. They were the kind that were long enough to be used as beds for people spending more than a day on the train. A tattered cushion was all that remained in tact of the couches that could be used, and she used it to prop Luke's head on.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Natasha whispered, and she squeezed his hand when he nodded in understanding. Natasha clambered to the door leading into the president's compartment and struggled to pry open the wooden door.

Once it was open, she stepped into the last compartment, and she couldn't help the heavy sigh of relief when she saw the Presidents and Prime Minister mostly unharmed on the floor. The compartment was slightly destroyed from the fall down the mountainside, but it was mostly in tact and only one window was broken, but the curtains still hung over it, and Natasha pulled them closed in a desperate attempt to find some warmth. She tucked the curtains into the slightly damaged wooden covering on the wall so they didn't flop open. The compartment was also on its side, and broken glasses and uneaten food and blankets lay sprawled on the side of it. Although, the side was technically now the floor.

The President of America was dazed and confused and bleeding from a wound on his nose, but he was okay. The English Prime Minister was unconscious but looked otherwise unharmed. The Greek President was beside the American President and he, too, looked unharmed apart from a slightly bleeding wound on the back of his head, mostly covered by his black curly hair. They were leaning over the English Prime Minister, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with one of the many fur blankets in the compartment.

"Sir, are you alright?" Natasha asked once the President noticed her. He nodded solemnly and gestured toward the Prime Minister. Natasha understood and gingerly made her way to him. She knelt beside him and pulled him as far away from the glass windows as she could and kept his head propped on the cushion and the blanket over his body. Then, she turned and faced the Greek and American Presidents and stood to her full height.

"Is everyone alright? We need to help you." The American President said as he ran a trembling hand through his brown hair. Tears shone in his hazel eyes and he was pale, but only because he was scared. He made for the door but Natasha grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

She shook her head and guided him and the Greek President to the corner of the room where the prime minister lay. "No, sir. You two need to stay in here with the Prime Minister. Get another blanket and lie down next to him." She said as she glanced at the blankets strewn across the bottom of the compartment. There were at least ten of them, and there were at least a dozen pillows and four thick jackets. The President grabbed the nearest blanket. It was huge and thick and warm. He held it up to her for approval and she nodded. "Lie down next to the Prime Minister and stay close. Body heat is best. Wrap yourselves up in the blankets."

They did as they were told and managed to equally share the two fur blankets out between them. They snuggled together closely and, as uncomfortable as it might have been, they leaned into each other for warmth. The president made a move to get up again as he said, "I should be helping you." But, Natasha pushed him back and shook her head defiantly. She grabbed the coats and blankets and pillows, and moved them to one side of the room so she knew where they were. Then, she grabbed a blanket and a pillow and struggled to climb up to the door leading into the other compartment.

"Sir, stay here. Okay? I'm serious." She said with a firm nod of the head as she climbed into the next compartment. She was out of breath and tired and stiff, but people were worse off than her and they needed her help. She walked into the compartment and found the blond security guard awake and searching the room frantically. She knelt beside him and held his hand in hers in an attempt to calm him. "Listen, you need to stay calm. Okay? Your friend, Luke, is very badly hurt and you need to help him stay warm." Natasha said as she helped him to his feet. He nodded uncertainly. He was trembling and panting, but he managed to stagger towards Luke with Natasha's help.

"What's happened?" He asked, as Natasha helped lower him beside Luke. She didn't answer. She didn't know how to. She placed a pillow underneath his head and she threw the blanket over them and tucked it in around them to keep them warm. Luke was still trembling, but when the blond bodyguard was beside him he relaxed slightly. The blond didn't know what to do at first, but he quickly wrapped an arm around Luke's shoulders and pulled him closer. "Body warmth, right?" He asked. Natasha nodded and stood up once she was sure that they were wrapped up warmly enough.

"Don't move. Stay with Luke and keep him awake." Natasha ordered before she clambered back into the last compartment. She pulled on a jacket and zipped it up to the top of her neck, then she grabbed a second one and a pillow and blanket and struggled to make her way back to the third compartment where Steve was still helping people. The thick, waterproof blue jacket provided some warmth from the cold, but it made Natasha feel slightly restricted, and it was harder to make her way through the ruins and debris.

In the third compartment, the dust had settled and it was easier for Natasha to see where she was going. Steve was kneeling over one of the injured passengers, talking quietly. Four other passengers lay huddled against each other in the corner of the room, shivering and shaking and muttering things in Russian. Natasha recognized one of them as the man who had been caught under the wooden beam. His leg was extended and he was grabbing his thigh with both hands, and he was sobbing in agony. Natasha scrambled towards them and gave them the fur blanket. They took it gratefully and spread it out as far as it could go. She propped the man's leg on the pillow. She needed to somehow take all the injured passengers to the last compartment where it was warmer and more sheltered from the harsh wind.

Natasha was panting as she jumped over destroyed wood and metal, and ducked under wooden beams. She was sweating under the thick jacket but she figured anything was better than getting hypothermia. Her head pounded with each step, and her stomach lurched whenever she almost tripped. "Steve?" She called as she neared him.

He looked up and she handed him a jacket. "Thanks," he replied as he took the jacket from her. His voice was weak and slightly hoarse and Natasha found herself even more anxious. Steve's voice was usually so strong and it made her feel safe and comforted. He managed to shrug it over his right arm easily, but as he lifted his left arm he gasped in pain and he went a shade paler. He was still kneeling, but he wobbled dangerously and had to steady himself with his right hand. He was still breathing heavily and unevenly.

Natasha knelt beside him and placed a gentle hand on his left shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock and fear and she pulled her hand away quickly. It was covered in blood. Steve's blood. The red jacket had camouflaged it and the dust and ash had covered it, so Natasha hadn't noticed it before. "Steve, what the hell?" She asked, after a moment of shocked silence. Steve just shook his head, and slowly and painfully pulled his left arm through the sleeve. He was breathing through gritted teeth, but as Natasha moved to help him he shrugged her off.

"I'm okay," Steve whispered weakly, then he righted himself and turned to face Natasha again. "Are you okay?"

Natasha was taken aback. Was she okay? Yeah, she was, considering. And even if she wasn't, she certainly wouldn't tell someone that. It would look weak and pathetic. She nodded dumbly and looked Steve up and down. "I'm fine." She stated with a sense of finality that she hoped warned Steve not to ask again. "We need to move all of these people to the last compartment. It's the safest and the warmest place for them to be, especially when they're injured."

* * *

Moving the other passengers to the last compartment had been difficult and time-consuming, but necessary. Two people had broken legs and Steve had had to carry them there. That was another sure sign that he was injured worse than he was letting on. His breathing was strained, his face had grown paler, his brow was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he couldn't stifle the whimpers that escaped his lips whenever he stumbled or tripped. Usually he would be able to carry them without even breaking a sweat. One lady had a broken arm, and Natasha had had to assist her to the last compartment, and it had tired her out more than she had thought possible. The others had smaller, more insignificant injuries, like slightly singed skin or grazed cheeks, and were able to slowly make their way to the last compartment.

Moving Luke had been the hardest. He was barely conscious and every movement made him cry out in pain, but Steve managed to carry him to the compartment. It was quite a sight to see considering Luke was so tall and so big. But Steve persisted, and he managed to get Luke in a corner of the turned over compartment. All the survivors lay beside each other, including the politicians, and they snuggled between the fur blankets that were spread out as best as possible. The two on the edges were given the jackets for extra warmth.

Then, Steve and Natasha stumbled back to the third compartment where they promptly sat down in silence for a few minutes but what felt like it could have been hours. "Let me look, Steve." Natasha said as she turned to face Steve. Their backs were against the floor of the compartment and they were sitting on one of the few areas where debris didn't completely cover the wooden walling. She reached out and touched his back, just below his left shoulder, and he flinched.

"I'm okay." Steve said with a shake of the head. But he wasn't. Natasha could now see the burn marks on his neck, and she had no doubt that they stretched far beyond there. He wrapped his right arm around his left arm and held it in place.

"No, you're not." Natasha said and she roughly shoved Steve's right arm out of the way. Then, she unzipped his thick jacket and pulled the left sleeve off so only his shirt and red hoodie covered his arm. Steve didn't put up much of a fight, and that worried Natasha more than she would have liked to admit. It had been just over two hours since she had regained consciousness, and that meant Steve had been bleeding for at least two and a half hours.

She pulled him forward so he was hunched in on himself, and she carefully ran a hand down his back, avoiding his left shoulder. It was sticky with blood. And, even worse, she could feel raw and blistered skin in places where the material of his hoodie and shirt had been singed or burnt away. She was _furious_ with herself. How could she not have noticed? She had been too damn caught up in the hysteria that she hadn't even realized Steve was so hurt. The screams and cries and desperation had never distracted her before, and this time they had, and she had let them. Was she losing her touch?

"Lie on your stomach." Natasha ordered, and Steve complied without a word of refusal.

She pulled the thick jacket off further and inspected his back. She pulled the hoodie and shirt up and over his shoulders so his bare skin was exposed. He groaned in pain and his body visibly tensed. The muscles and veins in his back and shoulders and arms bulged. His back was burnt in various places, the skin was singed and the burns were only first-degree burns, but he was burnt nonetheless. The burns were already starting to blister and bleed. His jacket was a torn mess, and Natasha wondered how the hell she hadn't noticed it before. But, the most worrying thing was his left shoulder. It was the source of most of the bleeding, and the reason Steve was in so much pain.

A hole with a diameter of about an inch went right through his shoulder. It was bleeding profusely and it was red and angry around the edges. The wound was just below the collarbone and had torn through most of the muscles and ligaments in the shoulder. It was a serious wound that needed immediate medical attention, super soldier serum or not. "Steve, what the hell happened to you?" Natasha asked. Her mouth suddenly felt dry as she tried to apply pressure to the wound. Steve writhed beneath her touch, but she persisted because she refused to let it continue bleeding freely. She tore a piece of material off Steve's torn jacket and wrapped it around the wound as tight as it wound go. Then she tore another and another and secured the first in place until his shoulder was completely covered by material that was quickly becoming soaked with blood.

"A metal rod." Steve answered through tightly clenched teeth. He was in pain. Natasha fisted her hand and slammed it into the wood below her feet. How could she have been so oblivious to how much Steve was hurting? How had she let him bleed for two and a half hours? She could picture it. Steve pinned to the wall with a metal rod straight through his shoulder. She could imagine the pain that must have almost engulfed him completely. Then, she imagined Steve tearing the rod out just so he could help everyone else who had been hurt, and she couldn't stand the thought.

"How... I mean..." Natasha was at a loss for words as Steve gingerly pulled what remained of his top and hoodie down and put the thick jacket back on. Natasha stared at the awful bruising across his chest in a mix of horror and awe. His face was twisted in an awful grimace and he was trying to breathe trough the pain. He sat with his head against the wood behind him, his eyes tightly squeezed shut and his hands curled into tight fists. "How did you get it out?" Natasha asked, even though she knew the answer.

"I pulled it out." Steve replied, and he stood on shaky feet. "We need to check the other compartments. Look for survivors. Try find that man." For a long time, Natasha sat and watched in silence as Steve tried to steady himself on his feet. When he had composed himself enough to stand without the support of the side of the compartment, Natasha stood, too. She followed Steve outside the compartment and into the roaring wind and heavy snowfall. The fourth compartment was gone and all that remained was some wood and metal that was still burning. At least there was some source of heat nearby.

Natasha looked up at the railway and saw what was left of the train. All that remained were ruins on fire and a thick smoke that hung in the air. Every compartment was destroyed and there were no more survivors. "The fourth compartment must have somehow unhinged from the others." Natasha said, and she took a few steps closer to the wood and metal on fire. Bodies lay strewn out over the mountainside, some surrounded by their own blood, others just lifeless and surrounded by white snow that continued to fall on top of them and bury them below it.

"It's the only way we could have survived the blast." Steve agreed. Natasha nodded silently and stared at the dead bodies that lay in front of her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone or something move and, without hesitation, she ran forward. As she got closer she could make out the limbs struggling to shake the snow off of them. Someone was alive. Someone had survived.

She knelt beside the person and wiped snow off their face. The first things she recognized were the gray eyes that stared back at her. It was the man from the bathroom. The one with the cellphone. He was still alive. But barely. He was surrounded by his own blood that seemed to be coming from a wound in his stomach and a wound in his arm. He gurgled and bloodied bubbles popped on his lips. Then, he reached out suddenly and grabbed Natasha's arm in his bloodied hand.

Steve was next to Natasha in less than a second. He hovered protectively, ready to pry the fingers off of Natasha's hand should the need arise. "He's still out there." The man said in his gruff voice. Natasha looked up instinctively before returning her gaze back to the dying man in front of her. His lips were blue. Hypothermia was already setting in.

"Who is? Where?" Natasha asked. She grabbed his hand in her own in a desperate attempt to keep the man conscious for long enough to tell her what she wanted to know. "Who?" She asked again when the man didn't reply.

"The..." The man began but he trailed off and suddenly broke into a coughing fit that racked his entire body and left him trembling. Natasha shook him hard and grabbed his shoulders in her hands. "The man who... Who hired me." The man replied, and he suddenly started laughing. It was a bitter, sarcastic laugh, and it chilled Natasha to her core. His bloodstained teeth only frightened her more and added to the spooky atmosphere. "He's h-here. He knows I... I didn't c-complete the job."

"Who is he?" Steve asked. His voice was strong again and filled with conviction. Natasha felt safe beside Steve, and she felt comforted knowing that Steve could still go on despite how serious his injuries were. "Where is he? _What was the jo_b?" Steve asked. He was gripping the man's arm so tightly that his knuckles were white and Natasha could see his muscles bulging through the thick blue jacket.

"Kill the Prime Minister." The man replied with another cynical laugh. Natasha was losing her patience. She needed answers and she needed them immediately. She had no pity for the dying man in front of her. He had killed many more people and he deserved what he got. What goes around comes around. "He's out there. He's watching." The man added and his eyes roamed the surrounding area. Natasha looked up and searched the snow covered forests and rocks. There were so many hiding possibilities that she didn't dare doubt that the man was out there somewhere, hiding, watching. "And he'll finish the... The job I c-couldn't."

"Where is he?" Natasha asked. If the man was out there it meant the Prime Minister was in danger, which meant the Presidents and the passengers of the train were, too. It was her job to protect them. She was sweating again and her heartbeat was too fast, but she knew that if the occasion arose she would be able to take the guy down, armed or not.

"He's here. He's waiting. And... And he's gon..." He started trailing off again and he coughed violently. His eyes were glazing over and blood was pouring from his lips. "Gonna k-kill every survivor. Even you." The man replied. "You won't f-find him until its too late."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys. Thanks so much for the amazing support and kind reviews! it means so much!**

**This chapter might be slightly confusing, but the next chapter will explain it all, I promise. **

* * *

Natasha had never been one to scream, or curse, but she did both when the man took his last breaths. He spluttered and bloody bubbles popped on his lips, then he went limp. Natasha stared at him for a long time, not moving, not speaking, not feeling. Then the anger ran through her so fast she felt like she was going to explode, and she stood up suddenly and fisted her cold, small hands. "Shit!" She yelled, and she stood heaving and trembling with anger and cold and hatred.

She took a second to think about the situation. She needed to calm herself down. Someone was after the Prime Minister and they were going to kill anyone in their way to accomplish their job. The bomb threat hadn't just been a threat, it had been real and Natasha and Steve had failed to disarm the bomb and save the lives of the passengers on the train. The President had requested Steve and her specifically, low profile yet top notch security, and they had failed him. No one was supposed to know that he was on that train, but someone had known about the Prime Minister, despite the fact that no one was supposed to. Natasha wondered if it had been an inside job, but she dismissed the idea as quickly as she had conjured it up.

She scanned the mountainside and her heart dropped at the sight of the dead bodies in front of her. Her gaze lingered on the body of a young boy. She could have saved his life, but she didn't because she had been too damn slow to find and disarm the bomb. The guilt gnawed away at her and she struggled dismissing it. It was already a huge change. The last time Natasha had been in Russia, guilt had not been a feeling she was familiar with. She had changed since her days working as a KGB agent, changed for the better. But she wondered if that could have been a bad thing. She wondered if her newfound compassion was affecting her efficiency. No. She refused to think about it, because somewhere deep down, she knew it was true.

"We need to keep those passengers safe." Steve said beside her, and Natasha turned on her heels to face him. He had been so quiet that she had almost forgotten he was beside her the entire time. He looked so pale, and he was sweating despite the freezing cold, and he looked like he had reached the point of collapse. He was on his feet, but he wavered dangerously. His right arm held his left arm in place and his breathing was too shallow for Natasha's liking. He was so badly hurt. He needed help or he wouldn't be able to carry on, super soldier serum or not. He needed help.

"You need help first, Steve." Natasha said and she grabbed his right arm quickly as he swayed. Steve shook his head and was about to argue, but he suddenly went even whiter and he collapsed to his knees bonelessly and vomited. He vomited until he was dry heaving, and even then he kept heaving. His body trembled with pain and exertion and Natasha could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him. She knelt beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back. She traced patterns on his back and looked away as he got rid of anything he had eaten in the last few days, and she hoped Steve could make it back to the shelter of the train. She couldn't carry him.

A blizzard was coming, and if Natasha and Steve didn't get inside soon, they wouldn't be able to survive. It was too cold outside and Natasha felt too exposed without the protection of the wrecked train surrounding her. Whoever the man was who was set on exacting revenge on the English Prime Minister, he could be out there, watching Steve and Natasha, and waiting for the perfect moment to shoot to kill. "Come on, Steve." Natasha said softly, and she wrapped her frozen fingers around Steve's arm. She helped him to his feet and held his arm tightly as he regained his balance and found his equilibrium. She moved to wrap his arm around her shoulders but he shrugged her off and shook his head defiantly.

"I'm okay, thanks." Steve said, and he pulled his arm out of Natasha's grasp.

Getting back to the train was a struggle. The snow was so thick that Natasha sunk up to her knees with every exerting step, and Steve kept stumbling. He was starting to bleed through the thick blue jacket Natasha had given him and his breathing was getting worse. Natasha hoped he hadn't punctured a lung or suffered severe internal injuries. By the time they had reached the train, Natasha was panting and Steve was struggling to stand upright. She kept scanning her surroundings nervously, expecting and preparing to find someone standing there, pointing a gun at her or Steve. She was so angry with herself. What she had assumed had been an amateur job completed by an idiot and his monkey employer, had actually been a well thought out and relatively structured plan. And that 'monkey employer' was actually a mad man set on revenge, and he would get it no matter what.

"There has to be a first aid kit somewhere around here, right? I mean, one that hasn't been blown up." Natasha mumbled as she watched Steve hold a hand to his shoulder and pull it away a few seconds later. It was covered in blood.

"Yeah, I'm going to check on everyone. I'm going to find water or something." Steve slurred.

Natasha nodded slowly and watched as he stumbled over the wreckage and clambered to the next carriage where he disappeared from sight. She turned and started searching through the rubble for anything that could be used to help Steve or any of the other passengers. But, as expected, the third carriage had been too destroyed by the bomb to have anything of use left. So, she climbed to the next one and started searching there. After almost twenty minutes, Natasha had nearly given up when she finally found a compartment in the wall. Inside was a first aid box. It wasn't much, but the bandages and sterilizers and butterfly band aids could prove useful. She could at least bandage Steve's wound properly, and put some snow in a plastic bag to put on his chest.

She sprinted to the next carriage with the first aid box in her hand like she had won the biggest and most important prize in the world. She had finally come out victorious in one of her searches that day, and even though it was little, she was grateful it was something. Steve was kneeling beside one of the injured passengers, holding a water bottle to her mouth and helping her drink. The President of America and Prime Minister and President of Greece were all awake and were sharing one water bottle. The Prime Minister had finally woken up, but he looked confused and dazed and Natasha was almost confident he had a concussion. But, in the greater scheme of things, he got off pretty lucky. Well, that was if Natasha and Steve could keep him out of harm's way until help finally arrived.

Then she realized. She hadn't called for help and they were in the middle of nowhere which meant no one was nearby enough to have seen the explosion, and the terrible weather might have been messing with the train's GPS systems. So, in case nothing had alerted the authorities of the bomb, Natasha had to somehow get a signal out there. She didn't have her cellphone and she knew Steve didn't carry his, mainly because he wasn't even sure of how it worked. "Does anyone have a phone?" Natasha asked, in English first in case any of the English passengers had one.

"Yeah, me." The blond security guard replied. He was still beside Luke, his arms held Luke close to him as the younger man trembled slightly. He might have been going into shock, which meant if he didn't get help soon, he was going to die. "But I've already tried calling the authorities and there's no bloody signal." The blond added, and Natasha could have punched a whole right in the fucking wall. They were stranded, and it was up to her and a very badly injured Steve to take care of the survivors until the authorities realized they were gone, and until it was safe enough for a rescue mission to begin. The blizzard was getting closer, getting stronger, and Natasha knew that rescuers wouldn't be sent out in those kinds of weather conditions. They would die, too.

Natasha stood motionless for a long time, watching in an almost hypnotic trance as Steve tended to the needs of the passengers. It was when Steve finally collapsed that she was snapped out of her trance. The passengers were crying and screaming as they watched the superhero fall to the ground bonelessly. And the American President shot right up and sprinted to Steve's side, kneeling beside Natasha and placing a pillow underneath Steve's head. "I'm okay." Steve protested as he weakly shoved Natasha's hands off his body, but Natasha held him down and that is when she started to get really worried. Usually, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hold Steve down. But, right then, she could hold him down with one hand as she raided the first aid kit for what she needed with the other. It was easy. And it scared her.

"No, Rogers, you're not okay. Now shut the hell up and take off your jacket." Natasha ordered as she found a fresh pack of cotton wool and disinfectant. She knew Steve couldn't get an infection, but she felt like she needed to use the disinfectant. Anything that would help him heal faster. She bathed the cotton wool in disinfectant then handed it to the President. Steve was struggling to get his jacket off but he refused any offers of help, and eventually he pulled it off. Natasha pulled up Steve's tattered hoodie and shirt and carefully slipped Steve's left arm through the sleeves. He gasped and his face contorted in pain, but his body remained still, and he didn't complain. Slowly, she unwrapped the bloodied rags she had tied around his wound, and the President gagged and turned away. "This is going to hurt." Natasha stated. She grabbed the disinfectant bathed cotton wool and held it in her hands as she stared at the disgusting wound in Steve's shoulder.

Then, Natasha set to cleaning Steve's wound. It was an agonizingly slow and painful procedure. With every wipe of the cotton wool, and every drip if disinfectant, Natasha could feel Steve's muscles tremble and tense beneath her touch, and it killed her. A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it back and forced herself to continue cleaning Steve's wounds no matter how much he writhed and screamed. In his defense, he tried to stay still, but it was hard and Natasha couldn't blame him for twitching and flinching and whimpering occasionally. Somewhere deep inside the first aid kit were painkillers, but they would have no effect on Steve. Once again Natasha found herself questioning whether the serum was in fact worth it. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she squeezed his right hand with her free hand, and Steve nodded in understanding.

Then she layered gauze pad after gauze pad on either side of the wound and secured it with medical tape on every corner and edge. With the President's help, she managed to wrap the bandaging around Steve's shoulder. It was difficult because she couldn't wrap it around his chest due to the broken ribs, so it was harder to secure the bandaging in place, but she managed with some persistence and determination. She couldn't do much about the burns, though. "Can you fetch some snow, sir?" Natasha asked the President, and he nodded quickly and rose to his feet with a look on his face that suggested he was happy to finally be of some importance in the situation. Natasha handed him the bag, then he was off.

While he was fetching snow for Steve's ribs, Natasha stood on slightly wobbly legs and stumbled over to the broken window where she had closed the curtains. She used the medical tape to tape the curtains against the wall so no snow could get inside the compartment. Then she returned to her original position beside Steve, and she picked up one of the water bottles he had dropped when he collapsed and she forced him to drink more than half of it, before she took a few sips herself. Steve propped himself up on his elbows and scooted backwards until his back rested against the wall and he could sit up. "Give me a minute, then I can help again." He said. His voice was weaker and shakier than it had been, and Natasha nodded but said nothing.

The President returned a few minutes later with a packet full of snow, and Natasha took it gratefully and told him to return to his place under the fur blanket. He did so without having to be told twice. Natasha scooped some of the snow out of the packet and made Steve curl in on himself so his back was exposed, and she layered the snow over Steve's burns. He flinched, but his muscles relaxed slightly as the iciness of the snow soothed his burning skin. Then, she handed him the packet and guided his hand to his ribs. "Hold it there until it melts. Once it's melted, you can help." Natasha said, and she helped him pull his hoodie and shirt down again then draped the thick blue jacket over Steve as he sat vulnerably against the wall.

Natasha packed up the first aid kit and made her way over to Luke, who was still conscious and still huddled against the blond. "What's your name?" Natasha asked the blond as she knelt beside Luke and placed a comforting hand on his arm. He turned and faced her, and his green eyes searched hers in confusion until he recognized her, and he did his best attempt at a smile, even though it quickly turned into a pained grimace. She smiled back and gently turned him until he was fully on his back.

"It's Harry." The blond replied, and he scooted slightly further away so Natasha could take care of Luke.

Natasha carefully unpacked the contents of the first aid box, and took as much as she would need for Luke, then packed the rest back into the box and handed it to Harry. "Harry, take this box and help as many people as you can. I assume you've had first aid training?" She asked as she dipped the cotton wool in disinfectant. Luke would actually need the disinfectant if he wanted to survive. Harry nodded and took the box from her with wide eyes. "Okay, good. Then help those people over there. Once you're done, I'll get you sorted out, but right now you're the least injured person who's actually calm enough and trained enough to do this. Okay?"

Harry nodded slowly, then got to his feet unsteadily and staggered over to the wounded survivors. Natasha watched him for a moment then glanced back at Steve. He was still so pale and clammy, and his face was twisted into an awful grimace, but he was managing to slowly shrug his jacket onto his shoulders. He stood up cautiously, then straightened up as much as his damaged body would allow, and joined Harry in helping the survivors. Natasha turned back to Luke uncertainly and forced herself to relax. It was getting dark outside, and she knew that meant that they wouldn't be rescued until morning. A search party would never commence at night, it was too dangerous. It was up to her and Steve and the few composed, barely injured passengers to keep the rest of them alive. Natasha took a deep breath and told herself that she had been through worse. She had survived worse.

"What's wrong?"

The small voice snapped Natasha out of her thoughts and she jumped at the sudden and unexpected interruption. She looked down and found Luke's green eyes watching her intently. His nose was bleeding again, and some blood was crusted on the corners of his lips. Natasha wiped away the blood with a cotton wool ball, and discarded it to her right, so it fell in a pile of shattered glass and wood. She shook her head but didn't answer as she gently peeled the material off Luke's chest wound. He cried out and his left hand grabbed blindly for her until his slim fingers wrapped around her forearm. "Sorry." She whispered so quietly she doubted he even heard her.

"What's bugging you?" He asked again through clenched teeth. Natasha felt like she could collapse. She felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and it made her feel like she couldn't stay upright any longer. The weight was too much. The responsibility was almost overwhelming. For most of Natasha's life, she had been taught to only take care of herself. Back before she joined SHIELD, the rule had been every man for themselves. She had abided by that rule, and she had never taken on the responsibility of anyone else's well being. But it had all changed when she had joined SHIELD. Now, she felt like it was her responsibility to ensure everyone's safety. It was like it had been imbedded in her brain. She couldn't leave people behind to suffer. She had changed for the better, but sometimes she wondered whether it was actually for the better. Sometimes she felt like the pressure and responsibility would overwhelm her.

"Nothing," Natasha replied with a poor excuse for a smile. "Just... You know. Didn't exactly plan for a bomb exploding today." She faked a nonchalant laugh, and bit her lip like she always did when she was putting on an innocent act. She couldn't let the passengers know that a mad man was out there and was willing to kill every single one of them. They were already scared enough, and she wasn't sure she would be able to handle them if they started freaking out about a mad man. So, she carried on treating Luke's wounds as if nothing was worrying her. "You got a girlfriend?" She asked, trying to start a conversation and divert the attention away from herself.

She slowly started cleaning out Luke's wound, and he tensed and bucked under her touch, but he didn't make a sound. Once Natasha had thoroughly cleaned the wound and extracted as much glass as she could with the rudimental set of tweezers the first aid kit had supplied her with, she layered a few gauze pads over it and secured them with medical tape. "No, I don't have a girlfriend." Luke replied. Natasha nodded but didn't look up as she gently ran her finger over the edges of the gauze to ensure the tape was stuck down correctly.

"Boyfriend?" She asked, and she tossed the bloodied cotton wool to the side and buttoned Luke's top back up. She pulled the blanket over him and tucked it in around the edges then sat beside him and stared at the oak wooden wall absentmindedly.

"No," Luke replied. "You?"

Natasha didn't reply at first. She glanced back at Steve and watched him for a long, long time. She watched as his muscles bulged through the thick jacket as he helped lift people up and hold them tightly. She watched as his blue eyes glowed each time he finished helping a passenger and they thanked him sincerely. She watched as he ran a bloodied hand through his dirt blond hair. She was almost entranced by him, but she caught herself staring and shook her head to clear any inappropriate thoughts, then turned back to Luke. "No." She replied eventually. Silently she wondered if she wanted one. She refused to acknowledge the nag in her thoughts that told her she wanted Steve. That would be unprofessional and gross. Well, maybe not so gross. He was a good looking guy, and he was a really nice person. Natasha cleared her head of the thoughts again and returned her attention to Luke, who she realized had been talking.

"... And that's why I think he's Captain America, which means you're Black Widow, which means you were on this train for a reason." Luke said. And he somehow managed to prop himself up on his elbows. His voice was stronger and more confident, and he suddenly seemed okay, if it weren't for the fresh blood that coated his lips. "That bomb wasn't a coincidence. You knew it would happen. Do you know who did it?" He asked.

Natasha considered lying, but she realized it would do the situation no good and dismissed the thought. She didn't answer, even though Luke was watching her expectantly. Instead she tried to change the subject. "You should try rest. You're hurt." She said, and she tried to stand, but Luke's hand wrapped around her arm again, and she couldn't bring herself to shrug him off, so she remained sitting on the floor. She waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "Look, Luke, don't make a mountain out of a mole hill." Natasha said, smirking. At least she was good at putting on an act.

She watched Steve help the man with a broken leg. Everyone was covered in dirt and dust and blood, and the sight of the overturned carriage added a sense of surreality to the situation. It looked like a scene from a movie. The English Prime Minister had fallen asleep again, and Natasha figured he had quite a serious concussion. He shouldn't have been sleeping, but Natasha couldn't ensure everyone was following exact medical rules all at the same time. Her thoughts were there use occupied. Steve was handing the man the painkillers and he had used broken wooden beams and bandaging to splint his leg. Steve wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand, and Natasha couldn't help but notice the caked blood on his palm and fingers. Harry was beside Steve, watching but not really doing much else.

"No, I know something is up. And you're keeping it from us. I deserve to know. I can handle it." Luke said as he pushed himself to a semi sitting position with a pained groan and an agonized grimace. Natasha returned her attention to him and watched him struggle to breathe through the pain, and he looked so young and innocent. She wondered how the hell he could be so wise when he was so young. Immediately, her thoughts were brought back to Steve. He was so young, and he was so wise. Sure, he had experienced a hell of a lot more than most people his age, but he had a wiseness and sincerity about him that made him seem so much older than he was. "Do you know who set off the bomb?" Luke asked. Through the innocence and youth, Natasha could sense something unsettling, she just couldn't put her finger on it.

Natasha hesitated, then shook her head slowly. "No. But we will find him and we will kill him before he kills us." Natasha said, and she mustered up all her composure to stand up and straighten to her full height. To her surprise, Luke struggled to his own feet and managed to stand upright with the support of the wall. He wavered dangerously and turned an awful shade of green, but he managed to stay composed and not vomit all over the place. "You should lie back down." Natasha tried to convince him. She suddenly felt an almost uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn't describe it. She just knew she felt uncomfortable. And she knew to trust her gut feeling.

The wind outside was howling, and the snow was gathering on top of the windows and train so fast that it almost blocked out any light completely. It was freezing inside, and Natasha could feel the tips of her fingers turn numb as she stood and faced Luke. Even on the uneven surface, Luke towered over Natasha, almost as much as Steve did. But she didn't feel intimidated. She just felt like something was about to go seriously wrong. More often than not, whenever she had that feeling, something really bad would happen. Natasha hoped that this was just a false feeling. The last thing she needed was for something else to go wrong.

"Do you know whether he's still out there? The guy who detonated the bomb." Luke asked. "Do you have any idea if he's even still alive?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes and watched Luke warily. He seemed too invested, too enthusiastic about the whole thing, and Natasha found it strange and unsettling. Her gaze drifted over Luke's shoulder and she watched Steve as he cleaned the wounds on Harry's face and neck. Steve looked up and saw her watching him. He said something to Harry that Natasha couldn't hear, and used the side of the compartment to get to his feet. He quickly made his way next to Natasha, and stood so close to her that their shoulders were touching. For a long time, he watched Luke but didn't say anything. The tension was almost palpable.

"Is there a problem here, sir?" Steve asked. Natasha could hear the protectiveness and warning in his deep voice, and it made her feel safer. She was in no way vulnerable, she could take care of herself very well. Most people were too scared to even go near her, but she always felt better when Steve was nearby. Or Clint, or, in fact, any of her fellow SHIELD agents. Steve took a step forward so he was standing in between Natasha and Luke. Luke narrowed his eyes, but he didn't look worried. He looked kind of excited, like he wanted Steve to fight him. Natasha watched him in confusion. He was no longer the scared young man she had felt the need to protect. Now she felt like she needed to protect others from him.

"I was just asking about the bombing, actually." Luke replied. He smiled innocently, but neither Steve nor Natasha smiled back. "You think the bomber is still out there?"

Natasha took a step forward so she was just beside Steve, and she stood to her full height. Her green eyes bore into Luke's, and she silently dared him to take a step closer. "Yes, we do think he's still out there. And we will find him. And we will kill him." Natasha replied. Her voice was strong, and she hoped it conveyed the hidden message that Luke was asking too many questions and that he needed to lie back down and let Natasha and Steve deal with it on their own. She stared at him, once again silently daring him to ask another question, but he didn't. Instead he took a step back and his gaze darted to Steve before returning to her. "That a good enough answer for you, Luke?" Natasha snapped.

The room was silent as the other passengers looked on with curiosity. Most of them held the brown fur blankets so high up that it covered their noses and mouths, but Natasha could see the tears in their bloodshot eyes. Luke didn't answer, and Steve and Natasha stood side by side as they stared at him. Then, a loud click interrupted the silence. Natasha recognized it immediately. It was the distinctive sound of a gun being loaded. She glanced at the other passengers and found them staring at her nervously, all in the exact same positions. Then she remembered. Harry. She searched the room frantically until her gaze rested on Harry who stood on the far edge of the room, his gun pointed directly at her and Steve. Beside her, she could feel Steve tense in anticipation and anger. Then a second click interrupted the silence, and this time it came from closer. Natasha swiveled on her heels so she faced Luke again. He was holding his handgun in his right hand while his left arm was wrapped around his stomach. And his gun was pointed directly at Natasha's face.

"You were getting a bit too close there." Harry said as he took a step closer and pointed the gun at Steve's face. Steve watched him silently, his gaze unwavering and his eyes unblinking. Natasha stared at the barrel of the gun pointed at her, and she wished she had a gun on her. Then Harry took a step forward and slammed the barrel of the gun into Steve's shoulder. Steve cried out in agony and he collapsed to his knees as his right hand cupped his left shoulder. "Did that idiot we hired tell you it was us?" Harry asked as he returned to his original position with his gun pointed at Steve.

"Actually, we didn't know it was you." Natasha replied bitterly as she dropped beside Steve and wrapped her hands around his right arm. She helped him to his feet, but didn't dare release her grip on him as he wavered dangerously and turned an ugly shade of green. The blue jacket became stained with fresh red blood, and Natasha swallowed nervously as she watched Steve's eyes flutter momentarily. "Steve, you need to stay awake. I need you to stay awake." She whispered in his ear. He nodded and tried to straighten out. Natasha looped his arm over her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. He was leaning heavily on her, but with each passing second he relied on her less and less. Natasha faced Harry and she made sure to look him in the eyes. He smirked smugly as he watched Steve struggle to stay conscious. "You know, if you had jut been a bit more professional, and not sold yourself out, you probably could have gotten out of this without any suspicion." Natasha mused, smirking equally as smugly.

Steve unwrapped his arm from around Natasha's shoulders and somehow managed to stand straight. He looked intimidating and scary as he towered over Luke and Harry. The only problem was that they had guns and he didn't. He didn't even have his shield. "Yeah," he agreed with a slight nod. "But now, we're going to make sure you don't come out of this. You just made a huge mistake." Steve sounded threatening, and she knew he had managed to scare Luke and Harry because their eyes widened and they blinked continuously for a few seconds. Then Harry composed himself and stepped forward so his nose and Steve's nose were almost touching. But Steve didn't step back. Instead, he leaned forward and smirked. He could be intimidating when he needed to be. Natasha watched from the side, and she barely noticed Luke nearing her. But she saw him out of the corner of her eye.

She turned and swung out with her fist, aiming to hit him in the nose. If she broke his nose, it would make him tear up and it would blur his vision, and give him a massive headache, which would, in turn, affect his reflexes. He would be slower and less fluent, which would give Natasha a better chance at disarming him and turning the tables so she was pointing the gun at him instead. That had been her plan, but it didn't quite go accordingly. She managed to punch Luke in the cheek, because he had anticipated the action and he had sidestepped just in time. Then, Natasha kicked out and landed a hard blow to his stomach. He landed on his back with a thud and a pained cry as he curled in on himself, but he still didn't release the gun. Natasha was about to continue her attack when she heard Harry's gun click again. He had released the safety. She turned on her heels and faced him.

Harry was standing a few feet away from Steve, but his gun was pointed at Steve's heart. Harry's wounds were bleeding again, and a new laceration covered the bridge of his nose. Steve was standing on unsteady legs and his right hand cupped his shoulder, it was bleeding again. Apparently, Steve had attempted to fight him off, but Harry had used Steve's injuries against him. "You make one more move and I swear to God, I will kill him." Harry said. Natasha stood motionlessly for a long time, weighing up her situation. She had no choice but to do as she was told. They had guns, she and Steve didn't. Harry was mostly uninjured, as was Natasha, but Luke was quite badly injured. However, Steve was in even worse shape, and although he kept pushing and remained upright, Natasha doubted he would be able to defend himself with a one inch hole through his shoulder and who knows how many broken ribs. So, Natasha remained where she was.

"Each time one of you even attempts to attack us, I will shoot a passenger. And I shoot to kill." Luke said. He had gotten up and staggered over to the passengers whilst Natasha had been watching Harry. Steve was tense and Natasha could see that he was itching to make a move, but even he knew the odds were against them. Luke was pointing a gun at one of the ladies, and she was sobbing. His finger was on the trigger, and Natasha knew she wouldn't be able to get to him before he would be able to pull that trigger. So, she had to admit defeat and remain where she stood. She could feel the anger rise from her very core and she couldn't wait to get her hands on Luke and Harry.

Steve was shoved beside her, and they were told to sit down. Steve laughed bitterly and shook his head and spit blood at Harry's shoes. It earned him another hard jab to his shoulder and he winced in pain as his face crumpled in agony. Natasha rushed forward and attempted to wrap her hands around Harry's neck, ready to snap it in two, but as she did, Luke cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow as Natasha looked at him. He gestured toward the sobbing young brunette he held at gunpoint, and he jabbed the gun on her temple. Natasha curled her hands into fists and stepped back slowly. "I said, sit the fuck down." Harry repeated. This time, they did, however reluctantly, and Harry stood in front of them, his finger on the trigger and his hand unwavering. "Luke, wake up the Prime Minister." Harry ordered with a quick glance over his shoulder.

Steve turned to face Natasha and whispered, "We will get out of this."

"I'm not so sure." Natasha replied. She could fight Harry and Luke easily, without even breaking a sweat, but she wasn't sure she was willing to risk the lives of the passengers to do so. And she knew Steve wouldn't put them in danger willingly. So, until help came, or Luke or Harry fell, they were at a stalemate. No matter how much she itched to make a move, no matter how much she needed to beat the crap out of them, she couldn't move, not if she wanted to keep every single one of those passengers alive.

"I have a plan. Curly over there won't be able to keep standing much longer." Steve replied. "We'll get out of this. All of us." He added, but he didn't sound so certain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi guys, thanks so much for the fantastic encouragement and support on my story! I really do appreciate it. **

**This chapter was really just an excuse for me to write Steve whump. I'm really nervous because I've never written from his point of view, but I hope it works out. **

**And also, I just watched the Jack Reacher movie after reading all the books, and I'm very disappointed in their choice of actor for Reacher. Tom Cruise is a fantastic actor and all, but he's no Jack Reacher! **

* * *

Steve sat on the wall of the overturned carriage, with his back against the roof. His legs were tucked up against his stomach and chest, and he crossed his arms over them, and he rested his head on his arms. He probably looked like he was sleeping, but he wasn't. He was awake and he was listening to every tiny breath, every word uttered, every howl of the wind, every desperate whimper that emanated from one of the many terrified passengers. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open so he could breathe easier.

His chest hurt so badly that with every intake of breath, Steve grimaced, and with every exhale, his hands tightened into fists. He had at least three broken ribs. He had had enough broken ribs in his lifetime to learn to tell. He thought back to a few hours ago, when he had regained consciousness and found himself pinned down between a metal beam and the side of the cart. He had tried to move his arms to push the beam off, but a fiery spike of pain shot through his arm and shoulder and up his neck, and he had cried out at the unexpected pain. For a long time, he had just laid there, his eyes squeezed shut in agony and his lips slightly parted at he tried to fight the pain and remain conscious. Then, finally, he had had the guts to turn his head to the left and glance at his shoulder. He almost threw up.

Not because a pole was sticking through his shoulder and it looked disgusting. Not because of the blood that pooled on the surface beneath him. Not because of the fact that he could feel the pole rub against his muscles and nerves with every slight movement. But because the pain suddenly spiked to new levels, and his vision grayed and his head spun and his stomach churned. But he didn't vomit. Instead he lifted his right arm up slowly and wrapped it around the thick metal rod. He took a steadying breath, then another and another and another. Then he had pulled with all his might.

The pole hadn't come lose on the first try. Steve had been weak and tired and suffering the effects of blood loss and what appeared to he a severe concussion if the continuous nausea and headache and terrible coordination were anything to go by. So, he bit his lip and wrapped his hand around the rod tighter. He took another deep breath, deeper than the others, and it was only then that he had felt the agony that tore through his chest. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was there, and it was persistent, and it was torture. Every breath started hurting, every tiny movement sent daggers through his chest.

His right hand had dropped limply, and he suddenly hadn't had the energy to lift it up and move it. He was dizzy even though he was lying down, and he felt like he was going to pass out again. But he couldn't because there were people on that train who he needed to help. He could hear their desperate cries of agony and fear and realization, and he needed to help them. So, he had done what he had thought was the only real option. He dug into his last energy resources and managed to lift his right arm enough to wrap it tightly around the rod. Then, he had pulled. The veins in his neck and arms bulged, and he cried out with the effort. Then, with a sickening squish and a disgusting splatter of blood, the rod had come loose. He tossed it to the side and lay there for a long time, trying to remain conscious.

But he hadn't saved himself yet. He still needed to free himself from under the heavy metal beam that pinned him down against the ground. Debris and dust and ash floated in the air and stuck to his tongue as he tried to breathe steadily and ignore the pain that flared across his chest and shoulder and arm. His vision was blurred by the dust and his blood and his own tears. He lifted up his left arm, and it dropped back down almost immediately. It was too painful. But he tried again because he had to. And this time, his arm had managed to stay up. With a lot of effort and sweat and tears, Steve had managed to push the beam off of his body, and he had let it crash to the ground with a thud. Then he blacked out again as the pain became to much for his battered and weakened body to handle.

He had woken up again a few minutes later, and the pain was worse than it had been last time. But, he had to ignore it, compartmentalize it and move on with his responsibilities as Captain America. His back was itchy and sore and it stung with each slight movement. His jacket was singed in places, and he figured he was burnt, too. But the pain of the impalement and broken ribs was too severe, and it almost dulled the pain of the burns. With a grunt of combined effort and pure agony, Steve staggered to his feet with the help of the wall and the beam. Then he had collapsed to the floor in a heap, with a cry and a whimper. But he had tried again, and fallen again. But he persisted. And eventually he was able to get upright, and stay upright, with the help of Natasha.

That had been six hours ago. Steve had been sitting beside Natasha for almost two hours, with Dumb and Dumber standing above them with guns, one with a gun pointed at them and one with a gun pointed at the English Prime Minister. Curly, the one with the green eyes and curly hair, Luke was his name, but Steve identified him as Curly, was hunched over and he kept spitting blood from his cracked lips. He wasn't going to be able to stand much longer, and the second he fell was when Steve planned to make his move. Not before, because he and Natasha were both unarmed, and he didn't want the passengers hurt, so it had to be when one of them fell. Steve wasn't willing to put the lives of the passengers in danger, so he had to wait. And he knew Natasha felt the same by just looking at her.

She was watching the men carefully, her green eyes narrowed and her lips pursed like she was concentrating hard. Steve could practically see the gears in her head turning. She was trying to come up with a plan of her own, and she was calculating the best time to do it. Steve figured she would eventually get to the same conclusion as him. Unless she came up with a better plan, which he had no doubt she could do. She was skilled in both hand-to-hand combat, and armed combat, and he had no doubt she would be able to snap both their necks without even breaking a sweat, but the passengers' lives were a huge factor in their escape, for both himself and Natasha. So, whatever plan Natasha conjured up, it had to involve saving the life of every single passenger.

His shoulder throbbed, and he could feel his chest become wet as blood dribbled down onto it. But he ignored the pain and discomfort as he heard the English Prime Minister speak for the first time in hours. Steve had been waiting for that moment, he had expected it. He had asked a lot of questions himself, none of them answered, and most of them the exact same as the English Prime Minister's. "Why would you do this?" The Prime Minister yelled as he sobbed and almost choked on his own saliva and tears. He was a mess. His brown hair was disheveled and his cheeks were streaked with tears and his face was blotchy from crying, just like most of the other passengers.

That's was made Steve so angry. Luke and Harry had killed dozens of innocent people, and they had injured others. Because they had some unexplained personal vendetta against the Prime Minister, they had been prepared to kill every other passenger on that train, and that _wasn't_ okay. Steve had spent a long time thinking about the passengers. He was sure some of them had families at home that would now be missing a mother or father or cousin. He knew for a fact that there were parents at home who had no idea that their son or daughter had been killed because two idiots decided to bomb a train. He knew that children were waiting anxiously at home for their parents, parents that would never actually arrive. It made him furious. He was so angry that his hands trembled and his jaw tensed and he could feel the itch to attack Luke and Harry get worse.

And it made him think of Peggy. All those years ago, he had flown that aircraft right into the ocean, where he had frozen and stayed frozen for almost seventy years. He knew that she and Howard had searched for him or for any sign of wreckage at the bottom of the sea, for months and months. He knew because she had told him the first time he had visited her after he had woken up. He wondered what it was like waiting for someone to show up, but they never did. He wondered what it was like to lose someone and not even know where they were. He wondered if Peggy had spent nights thinking about him, like he had almost every night since he had woken up. She was still alive, but she was old, and Steve had missed out on everything he once so desperately looked forward to. She had been his only love, she still was. He wondered if he was still hers.

"Why would we do this?" Harry repeated with a nasty laugh and a shake of the head meant to dismiss the question as though it was an idiotic one to ask in the first place. "Why don't you ask yourself, _sir_." Harry suggested bitterly, and he tensed his jaw before turning back to face Steve and Natasha.

"I..I... Maybe... I'm, I'm n-not... I..." The Prime Minister stammered, and Luke and Harry laughed in amusement. Luke slammed the butt of his gun into the Prime Minister's face, whether it was out of annoyance or for the fun of it, Steve wasn't sure. The hit was hard and well aimed. It hit him right on his cheek bone, and the skin split and blood poured down his cheek and onto his neck. The Prime Minister cried out in pain and struggled in Luke's grip, but to no avail. Steve knew the hit had been hard enough to cause severe swelling and break skin, but not hard enough to break bones or cause any severe damage. Either way, it made him angry, and he uncurled his body and straightened his legs out in front of him. He tensed his shoulders, despite the pain, to make himself look more intimidating.

"_Don't_ touch him again." Steve said. His voice was hoarse from misuse and from thirst and from pain, but it still carried the conviction necessary to make him sound threatening and intimidating. Harry and Luke laughed in response, and Harry dismissed him with a nonchalant wave of the hand while his other hand remained firmly clamped around his handgun. Steve glanced at the Prime Minister, and, as expected, his cheek and eye had already started swelling and had turned a bright red, soon to turn into a blue bruise. "I'm serious. Don't touch him. Don't touch anyone." Steve added, his gaze landing on Harry. He made eye contact with Harry, and kept it. It was a psychological thing. Keeping eye contact gives a sense of confidence, and that freaks people out in certain situations. But it didn't affect Harry in the least. Not _yet_.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Luke mused. Even then, Steve didn't drag his gaze away from Harry. And he didn't answer. Beside him he felt Natasha's hand wrap around his forearm and tug at it, trying to get his attention. But he didn't break eye contact. It was up to him to save the passengers' lives, and Natasha's, even if that meant he didn't make it out himself. So, he had to build up an image of self assurance, and that meant speaking out and being confident. If he did that, it would at least freak one of them out just enough to put them off their game, and just enough to allow Steve leeway to attack and save the passengers and Natasha. "Hey, big guy. I'm talking to you. What are you going to do about it, _Captain_?" Luke repeated. Still, Steve kept his gaze focused on Harry, and he didn't answer. Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable. It was working.

"What are you going to do about it?" Harry asked. Steve's heart was pounding, his nerve ends were tickling in anticipation. Slowly, he managed to push the pain so far down in his mind that it was only just bearable. But only just. Just enough to allow him to concentrate on Harry and keep a straight face and remain intimidating. "Ey?" Harry asked.

"Just don't touch him. Or anyone else. Okay?" Steve repeated. For a long time there was silence as Luke and Harry eyed him, probably weighing up the odds of fighting him. Steve hoped he still looked okay. He was still in pain, and he was still dizzy, and he felt nauseous, but he hoped he didn't look like it. He hoped he wasn't pale, he hoped he wasn't trembling visibly. He needed to be strong, not only for himself but for the passengers and Natasha who were relying on him. It was his responsibility, and he took it very seriously.

"Oi, Luke, stop messing around." Harry said eventually, as he glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Steve had intimidated Harry, and convinced him into doing what he had asked of him. It was working. Luke stared at him for a while before nodding and lowering his gun so it was still pointed at the Prime Minister, but much further away from his face. Then Harry faced Natasha and Steve again and smirked with one eyebrow raised.

Beside Steve, Natasha tensed and she leaned in and whispered, "I'm getting impatient here." Steve nodded. He was getting impatient, too. Luke was holding out for much longer than Steve had thought he could. If they were going to get out of this, Steve needed to make a move, even with both of them still standing and still able to fight back. But he also needed to wait for the right opportunity. He needed to somehow lure at least one of the men as far away from the carriage as possible. That way the passengers and Natasha would be out of harm's way in case anything went wrong. But first, Steve wanted answers. And lots of them. "We need to finish this, Steve." Natasha added.

"Yeah, we do. Just give me a second." Steve replied. He needed a second to think of a plan. But he also needed a second to steady himself. His vision was blurry and black around the edges, and he felt like he was falling even though he wasn't. He could feel his shirt getting wetter with his blood. He gulped and tried to clear his vision by blinking, but it only made his headache spike to new levels and he suddenly felt like he was going to vomit. He planted his right hand on the ground to support himself and stop himself from falling over. He could feel Natasha watching him intently, but he didn't look at her. He closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from the pain. His thoughts drifted back to the day he crashed that plane into the ice.

And he realized he was cold. He was freezing even though he was wearing the thick blue jacket Natasha had given him. Even though Natasha had taped the curtains to the wall to protect them all from the harsh outer conditions, the wind still ripped through the cracks, and Steve could feel the goosebumps rising on his arms and legs. And, suddenly, he was back in that ice seventy years ago. It felt real. He was freezing, getting frozen over by ice and snow. His heartbeat increased until his heart was pounding so fast that it hurt his chest. He told himself to relax, that it wasn't real, but it felt real. Then he remembered Peggy again. They still hadn't danced. And he promised her he would dance with her. He wanted to dance with her. He wanted to live a life with her where he could love her and she could love him and they could live together until they died. But that opportunity had long since disappeared. She had already lived her life, without him.

"Steve, Steve." Natasha whispered in his ear as she shook his arm gently. "You're really pale." Those words brought Steve back to the present. Steve opened his eyes and looked at Natasha. She was running her fingers along his left shoulder, then she pulled them away. They were covered in his blood. It was bright red and contrasted her snow white fingers. He could see her eyes widen in shock, and he watched her throat visibly move as she gulped nervously. Steve tried to smile back at her, but it turned into a pained grimace, and he ended up just throwing his head back and closing his eyes again. He was badly hurt. But he had been hurt worse before. He could push past the pain and blood loss and weakness. He would have to. And he wanted to. "Let me see." Natasha whispered as she tugged at the blue jacket Steve wore.

He shook his head and carefully pushed her off. He was suddenly aware of the fact that Harry was watching him intently. He probably looked weak, and that was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't afford to look too weak. "No," Steve whispered back to her, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "No, I'm okay. Thanks." He added. Natasha looked at him for a long time, her green eyes searching his face until finally settling on his blue eyes. Blood still covered her face, but her gash had stopped bleeding a long time ago. Steve lifted up his right arm and rubbed his thumb against her forehead. Then he turned to Harry and took a deep breath. He finally had a plan that he knew would work.

"I want to clean her wound." Steve said, gesturing towards her forehead. He could feel Natasha's gaze boring into him, silently questioning him about what he was doing. Harry's blue-brown eyes glanced at Natasha before returning to Steve. He squinted, then frowned, then lifted his eyebrows as if every thought was accompanied by a facial expression.

"Doesn't look that bad." Harry replied with a shrug. He was sitting down across from Steve and Natasha, with his knees pulled up and his arms resting on them. He held the gun in his right hand and had it pointed at Natasha and Steve. His body looked relaxed and he seemed calm, but his grip on the gun was so tight that his knuckles were white and his arm bulged through the suit jacket. "She doesn't need you to look at it." Harry added. He was nervous. His grip on the gun gave him away despite his best efforts to appear calm.

"Yeah, well, it could get infected." Steve said. "At least let me wipe the blood off her face."

Harry stared at him for about a minute, contemplating what the best move was. Then he grunted and nodded and kicked the first aid kit across the floor and towards Steve. It landed a few feet short of Steve and Harry said, "Whatever. Pick it up and clean her face. She might as well look pretty when she dies." Steve narrowed his eyes in disgust and anger, but made no response. He managed to push himself to his knees with the help of the wall, then he pulled himself to his feet. He grunted with the effort and his vision blurred further and the world around him started spinning so fast it made him even dizzier, but he schooled his face and willed away the pain. He half staggered, half walked over to the first aid kit and picked it up. He never broke eye contact with Harry. And Harry never broke eye contact with him. They were sizing each other up.

"If you were on the train, how were you even going to get the guy you hired off the train?" Natasha asked Harry. Steve dropped down beside her and rolled his shoulders to get his blood flowing, and to try ease the pain in his left shoulder. It only made it worse, but he still had mobility, however limited, and that was good. Steve poured disinfectant on cotton wool and started cleaning out Natasha's wound as she spoke. She winced and her brow furrowed in pain occasionally, but she never flinched. "I mean, he told me you were going to get him off this train." Natasha added. Steve wiped off as much blood as possible, and discarded the bloodied cotton wool ball to the side. Then he pulled out a band aid and plastered it over Natasha's wound. It was small and it wasn't very deep, but head wounds always bleed a lot. No matter how small and shallow.

"Yeah, we lied." Harry replied with a smirk. He and Luke laughed evilly, but it ended with Luke breaking out into a coughing fit. Blood splattered onto the back of his hand, and he wiped it away quickly, but not before Steve noticed it. The Prime Minister flinched and more tears tracked down his splotchy cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Harry glanced at Luke and shrugged questioningly, and Luke replied with a thumbs up. The two of them cared for each other, that much was obvious. "We told him we would get him off this train, if he successfully planted the bomb. But we were never actually going to. It was just the only way we could get him to agree to do it." Harry elaborated, with a simple shrug of the shoulders.

"I have a plan," Steve whispered quietly and discretely in Natasha's ear. She nodded slightly. "So, no matter what I do, just follow my lead. Please." Steve added, and Natasha squeezed his knee gently in response.

"So what? You two are suicide bombers? Martyrs? What?" Natasha asked. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of bitterness behind her voice that added such venom, it made her sound scary. Steve pulled away from her, but she grabbed his hand in her own and looked at him. She mouthed the word, 'wait', and looked back at Harry. Harry looked at her with a smile. His eyes were void of any real emotion, and his smile was broad.

But it wasn't him who replied to her question. It was Luke. Luke straightened up a little bit and tightened his grip on the Prime Minister, who squealed in fear and squeezed his eyes shut as if he was expecting something that never came. "Martyrs, I guess you could say. Yeah. I like the sound of that. How about you, Hazza?" Luke said with a chuckle and a fleeting glance at Harry. Harry nodded and laughed along with him. "You see, our main goal was to assassinate this twat," Luke said as he pushed his gun into the Prime Minister's forehead. The Prime Minister cried out and tears slipped off his cheeks and down his neck. "But, we figured, why not make a statement. Why only kill him when we can get an even bigger message out there by bombing the entire train?" Luke said with a smug smile. He was proud of what they did.

"And what? Go down in history for killing yourselves, too?" Natasha asked, frowning in what could have been a combination of anger and hatred and amusement. She turned to Steve and whispered, "Tell me your plan." Steve nodded and licked his dry lips. But he didn't answer, not yet. He let Luke and Harry explain themselves first.

"Well, no." Luke replied as if he had been thrown off by the question. "It was going to work out like this," Luke said, raising his eyebrows in anticipation like he was about to tell the most well kept secret in the world. "You see, Harry and I were going to stay where we were, stationed by the door, protecting the politicians. That twat we hired was going to place the bomb. Then we were going to call his cell, and the bomb would detonate. Killing everyone one board, maybe even leaving one or two survivors. And if there were survivors, we would never be suspected. No one would know it was us who planned it because we would have an alibi. We would be pegged as unfortunate victims."

Harry nodded with each new point Luke made, his lips pursed as if he was concentrating hard. Then he sighed and clicked his neck. "It didn't exactly work out." He said. Natasha laughed, and Steve elbowed her in the ribs to tell her to stop. He didn't want to make Harry or Luke angry. He wasn't sure whether they were trigger happy, and if they were, they would undoubtably seriously injure or even kill one of the passengers. Maybe even the Prime Minister. "I don't know how, but these last few compartments weren't affected by the bomb. They were supposed to explode, too. But, that doesn't mean we can't accomplish what we wanted to. And, this time, we can still get away with it. Maybe even play ourselves off as the only two survivors. Who knows? That's all in our hands now." Harry added, and he and Luke laughed. Steve frowned, and met Harry's gaze. Harry stopped laughing, and narrowed his own eyes in response.

"But why? What did I do to you?" The Prime Minister asked, his voice shaky and soft. He was still crying. "Why do you want to kill me?" He elaborated.

Steve watched as the English Prime Minister struggled weakly against Luke's slowly loosening grip, but he was too upset and too scared to put up much of a fight, and Luke was able to hold him down easily. "It's pretty easy, big guy." Luke said venomously, his eyes narrowing in disgust and hatred, and Steve tensed involuntarily, preparing for a fight. "We don't agree with the way you want to run the country."

"It's not that hard to understand. You're an imbecile put in charge of the greatest country in the world, and you're going to screw it up." Harry added. "And, besides, we aren't alone. Lots of people hate you and everything you stand for, we're just the..." Harry trailed off as he searched for the right word to say. "We're the people that put those people's plans into action. We're their heroes."

Luke started nodding emphatically and smiling broadly. His grip tightened further on the gun, and the Prime Minister whimpered and started struggling weakly again. The other passengers were crying and trembling in fear, and the President of America and the President of Greece were watching Luke's hold on the Prime Minister carefully, their eyes wide with shock and fear and anger. But, even they were visibly scared, if their clammy skin and trembling lips were anything to go by. Steve stared at the passengers for a long time, and he glanced at Natasha and found her watching the passengers, too. She was practically oozing fury and anger, and her hands were clenching and unclenching into fists.

"You know, you've killed so many innocent people. And wounded others. You aren't heroes," Steve said, glaring at Harry and Luke. Blood dribbled from Luke's nose, and he wiped it away with a trembling hand. He was growing weaker, and Steve knew that he had to make a move while Luke was weak and Harry would be caught off guard. It was his moment. Right then, right there. "You're monsters, and I will make sure never get away with this."

"You won't be getting out of this alive, Rogers. Look at America's hero, beaten and bruised and bleeding. You're not as great as they make you out to be. Although, I have to admit, your rescue efforts were pretty impressive considering your injuries. Still, more disappointing than impressive." Harry spat, standing up and looking over Steve and Natasha.

His words cut into Steve, and he made a move to stand as he saw red, but the butt of Harry's gun was brought down against his nose aggressively. Steve felt the nose crack, and his vision blurred as pain erupted behind his eyes and across his cheeks. He sunk back to the floor, his right hand reached up to hold his nose. Blood streamed out of his nose, and he couldn't breathe properly. He had to open his mouth to suck in enough air, and it sent daggers dancing across his face and chest and shoulder. Blood poured into his mouth, and he spat it out as involuntary tears stung his eyes. But he never looked away from Harry, who was laughing maniacally. "You're pathetic, Rogers. And pathetic people deserve to die." Harry said.

"How the hell do you expect to get out of here?" Natasha asked, glancing from Steve to Harry. Steve's head was pounding and he felt like he was going to vomit. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see properly, he couldn't feel anything other than the pain that threatened to pull him into darkness. "Even if you kill every last one of us, the authorities will see that the rest of us were murdered! Bullet wounds aren't often sustained in bombings." Natasha said, her voice seething sarcasm and hatred. "And, they'll trace the guns back to you. You didn't think this through, did you, _big guy?_"

Harry was taken aback, and he blinked blankly as he stared at Natasha. Then, he shook his head and dropped to his knees beside Natasha, and his right hand gently grabbed her chin as his left hand gripped the gun and pointed it at Steve. Natasha smacked Harry's hand away and delivered a bone crushing blow to his face, and he stumbled back, but recovered quickly and smacked the butt of his gun down on Natasha's cheek so hard that it split the skin open. She gasped in pain and shock, and touched her cheek softly, smearing the blood across her cheek accidentally. "Don't you dare make another move, bitch." Harry yelled.

"Don't touch her!" Steve yelled, but his vision still swam in front of him, and he felt like he was spinning.

Harry laughed at him and yelled, "Or what, Rogers. You're going to attack us? You can't even sit up straight. We're not scared of you."

Harry eyed Steve and Natasha, then returned to his original position. Behind him, Luke coughed, and blood sprayed his hand, and his eyes widened in panic. Harry glanced at him and shrugged, Luke shook his head in response, and Steve could see Harry tense up. Luke was getting much worse, and Steve knew he wouldn't be getting out of this alive. Harry knew it, too, and so did Luke. "He will get away with it, because he can blame the murders on me." Luke said, looking at Harry then looking at Natasha. Harry and Luke behaved like they were brothers, and as Luke said that, Harry shook his head and tears welled up on his eyes.

"Don't you dare speak like that, Luke. Don't you dare. We will both get out of this, and we will blame the murders on our friends over here," Harry said, gesturing towards Steve and Natasha. For a long time, no one said anything, then Luke nodded and smiled. Harry sighed in relief and added, "Wipe our prints off the guns, place the guns in your hands. And by the time rescue gets here, your corpses will be frozen, and we will be long gone. _Long_ gone."

The passengers sobbed as Harry spoke, and he stared at them angrily and yelled, "Shut the fuck up!" The passengers quietened down, but they kept crying and shaking and trembling. The injured ones were unconscious, or sleeping. Harry turned and glared and Steve and Natasha and screamed, "No one says another word. I mean it. Or I kill every single one of you right now. Slowly."

The Prime Minister went limp in Luke's arms, he had lost consciousness. The passengers stared at him in horror, and Steve and Natasha tensed in anticipation. Steve was slowly becoming more aware, and with each blink his vision became clearer, but the pain intensified. "Why are you even keeping us alive? Why not kill us right now? We mean nothing to you." Steve said, testing Harry and Luke, trying to see how serious they were. "Are you scared of the blizzard? Are you too coward to kill people with your bare hands?" Steve questioned. He had used that tactic so often in hostage situations, and more often than not, it caught the criminals off guard, and it made them question their choices. And that was usually when Steve acted.

"Just," Luke started, glancing back and forth between Steve and Harry so often that Steve couldn't keep track. Steve had hit a nerve and he knew it. They were too scared or too weak to kill people face-to-face. Or they were to worried about the blizzard and they didn't want to spend days on end in a compartment with dead corpses. Or, they were drawing it out because they liked to see the passengers suffer in their own terror and worry. Either way, Steve had gotten to them. "Just shut up! Harry said no talking, don't you know what that means, Captain?"

For the next half hour, the compartment was silent as no one dared to speak or move. The only sounds were those of pain coming from the passengers, the occasional terrified sobs, and a few coughing fits from Luke, who was paling further, and he had started trembling so hard that he was leaning on the unconscious Prime Minister for support. It was dark outside, the wind was howling, the snow was falling fast and hard, covering the bodies on the hillside outside. And that's when Steve knew it was time to make his move.

"I need to use the toilet." Steve said, looking at Harry innocently. "And I'm not doing it in here." Harry eyed Steve, glanced at Luke, then at Natasha who shrugged, then back at Steve, who raised his eyes expectantly. Steve tried to block out the pain, store it behind walls and forget about it, but he couldn't. He was going to have to fight through the pain, and that would definitely affect his reflexes, but he would still be able to fight. He would have to. "Come on, you said it yourself, I can't even sit up straight, so what can I do? I just need thirty seconds outside and I'll be done."

Beside Steve, Natasha watched him and nodded slowly. She knew he had a plan, and she knew he was commencing it. She turned and faced Luke, who was watching Harry intently through hazy green eyes. Harry and Steve stared at each other for what felt like hours before Harry nodded and stood up quickly, his gun never wavering from its position pointing at Steve. "Yeah, sure, whatever. You're too weak to fight back. I'll take you outside where you can piss, I'm giving you thirty seconds only. You make one move and I'll kill you." Harry said, raising one eyebrow in a silent questioning of whether Steve understood. Steve nodded.

Slowly, Steve stood with the support of the wall and a little bit of a discrete push from Natasha. The world tilted and Steve almost collapsed as the pain spiked and the dizziness worsened and the nausea returned with a vengeance. But, he managed to stay upright with the help of the wall, and he took a few deep breaths as he straightened out. Then, Harry's gun pushed into his left shoulder, and Steve gasped in pain and doubled over as agony tore through him. "Go," Harry ordered as he pushed Steve with the muzzle of his gun again. Steve nodded and started walking on very weak, wobbly legs. But he refused to fall. He glanced back at Natasha before leaving the compartment, and she nodded and winked at him. He smiled in response.

The walk to the outside of the train was difficult, because Steve couldn't breathe properly, and the parts where he had to walk without support were almost impossible for him, but he managed. Then he went outside into the blizzard. Wind blew against his face, snow clouded his vision, cold cut through him, and he felt the adrenaline surge through him. The pain lessened to a degree where he could manage it, the dizziness almost completely disappeared, and the nausea was gone. His legs felt stronger, Steve felt stronger, and he turned to face Harry, who had his gun pointed at Steve, but was staring just past Steve. He clearly didn't think of Steve as a threat. And that was Steve's _only_ advantage.

It was his moment. He had to make his move. He knew that he had the perfect chance. So he took it. He took a steadying breath, tensed his muscles then relaxed them.

Then he lunged.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys. Thanks so much for the support on my story, it means so much to me. I would like to say a _special thank you _to some readers who review every chapter of all my stories. Seriously, guys, it means a lot and your reviews really motivate and encourage me. I hope you know who you are. **

**Also, if anyone is bored and has the time, please check out my story, _Three Words. _It's one of the few stories I'm actually proud of because it's different to any other stories I've done. I would really appreciate it. **

* * *

Natasha watched Steve stumble out of the overturned compartment. He almost tripped over the piles of debris and ridges in the wood, but he managed to stay upright somehow. He was so pale, and his nose had swollen to twice its normal size, and his blue insulated parka was soaked through with blood around his left shoulder, but he hadn't complained, and Natasha had faith that he could keep fighting, mainly because he had to, and she was positive he wanted to. She waited until she was sure he and Harry were out of earshot, because she knew Steve's plan was to lure Harry away, and she would have to take care of Luke.

She turned and glanced at the passengers. Only a few remained awake, the rest had succumbed to exhaustion, including the presidents, no matter how reluctantly. The Prime Minister was unconscious, and his face was swollen and bruised, and his brown hair was covered in sweat despite the freezing cold air and wind. He wasn't covered by a blanket, nor was Luke, and Natasha could see Luke shivering in the cold. Adrenaline masks pain and cold and doubt, but only for a certain amount of time, and only to a specific degree. Luke was going into shock, and he was in pain, and he was cold. Those were Natasha's only advantages. Those, and the fact that she was Black Widow.

"You messed up big time." Natasha stated, glaring at Luke. He looked up and his eyes caught hers and his eyebrows raised in question. Natasha said nothing for a long time. "You messed up, Luke. It's simple. You weren't prepared, you weren't experienced, your bomb failed, you freaked out, now you're holding us all hostage because you and Harry are cowards, and you're stupid." Natasha added, smirking when Luke did a double take as he was taken aback by her harsh words. He stumbled over his words as he tried to form a response, but Natasha interrupted him. "You know, I guess I could sum this all up for you if you'd like? Would that be easier for your pea sized brain to comprehend?" Natasha taunted, and she enjoyed seeing the shocked, and possibly slightly hurt, expression on his face. Luke opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, and Natasha relished in his speechlessness. "You failed." She said.

"Shut up!" Luke yelled, and he stood to his feet unsteadily. He used the wall as support, and he aimed his gun at Natasha. She stood, too, so she didn't have to look up at him. "Shut up!" He yelled again, and his deep voice cracked. Blood dribbled out of his nose, and he wiped it away quickly, smearing it across his cheek in the process. The gun in his hand wavered dangerously. He was pointing it at her but his hand was shaking to the extent that if he even fired the gun, he might have shot any of the unsuspecting passengers on that train. Natasha held her hands out with her palms facing Luke and her fingers spread out. She was showing him she had no weapons, trying to give the false pretense that she wasn't dangerous, that she meant no harm.

"Admit it, Luke. You screwed up. You didn't know Captain America and I would be on the train. You didn't know that the presidents would be on the train. You didn't have a contingency plan for escape in case your bomb didn't quite go according to plan. You were unprepared, you were stupid. And now you're paying for it." Natasha said quietly. She gestured towards the windows where the snow and wind was visible, and the reinforced glass shook against the harsh wind. She took a step closer to Luke, and he tensed his grip around the gun in response. The Prime Minister lay limply by his feet. "You should have known that there might have been a blizzard, which would make for unfavorable escape conditions. You should have known that other politicians would be on this train. You should have known that the temperature can reach below freezing. But you didn't, and you know why?"

"No! No! Shut up!" Luke yelled, and he stepped over the Prime Minister so he was closer to Natasha. Natasha didn't move a muscle. He was only three feet away from Natasha, and even with an unsteady hand, he would be able to shoot her. And, at that distance, chances were the shot could be fatal. Even if he didn't shoot her in the head or directly in the heart, the mere impact of the bullet would cause severe internal damage, and break bones, and there would be a lot of blood, enough for Natasha to go into hypovolemic shock which would kill her if the initial injury didn't quite do the job. "Shut up! You don't know shit about us and what we know! So shut your fucking mouth!" Luke yelled, and blood and phlegm flew out of his mouth. The veins in his neck bulged and his face was red.

"You could still get out of this, you know. Maybe you won't get on death row. Maybe you'll get a life sentence. If you just put the damn gun down and surrender." Natasha said, trying her hardest to reason with Luke. His green eyes were wet with unshed tears and he kept glancing at the door of the compartment expectantly, as if he was waiting for Harry to show up any minute. On the ground, the Prime Minister stirred, but didn't wake, and it distracted Luke for a split second. Natasha tried to use the distraction against him, and she grabbed for the gun, but he was too fast and he fired it once. The bullet whizzed past Natasha, clipping her on the shoulder, but not causing any serious injury. She winced and cupped her hand around her shoulder, but pulled it away when she realized it wasn't bleeding that badly. "Luke, give me the gun, and surrender. Choose to live."

"Life sentence?" Luke repeated, throwing his head back momentarily and laughing. He spat blood on the floor and shook his head. His eyes crinkled up in satisfaction, and he smirked. "Are you kidding me? Harry and I plan to get out of this alive. And everyone will be none the wiser. You know, except you two. But you'll be dead, anyway. You all will."

"Don't you have a family? Don't you have friends who will want to see you alive again?" Natasha asked. "Don't throw it all away to become a fugitive. I know life in prison isn't all that great, but it's better than a life constantly on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, avoiding all the places that will extradite you back to England. Trust me. If SHIELD has anything to do with it, you and Harry will be gunned down within a week." Natasha glanced at the door of the compartment. Steve and Harry had been gone for ten minutes already. "It's not how it is in the tv shows, Luke. It's a terrible life. Think of your friends and family."

Luke shuffled from foot to foot, clicking his neck and biting his lip nervously. He pulled at the collar of his shirt around his neck, gulping as if he couldn't breathe. Natasha took the smallest of steps forward, gently running a finger over the gash in her shoulder. It had already stopped bleeding. Most of the passengers were awake, and most of them were crying. They were staring at Natasha and Luke intently, trembling and huddling close together in fear. Some of them hid their faces behind the fur blankets, but most were wide eyed and very clearly terrified. "Friends? Family?" Luke asked, his tone suggesting that that was the most ridiculous claim Natasha had made all night. The passengers were watching Natasha, silently begging her to make a move. She could feel them watching her, and it made her feel unsettled and under pressure. "Harry _is_ my family! He took me in when my mum and dad died a couple years back." Luke's voice was suddenly slightly shaky with emotion, or maybe it was blood loss.

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but a gunshot rang through the air and made Luke jump in surprise. It had come from outside. Luke turned to look towards the direction of the gunshot, and Natasha grasped the opportunity with both hands. She jumped forward, lifting her feet up in the air, and kicked the gun out if Luke's hand, then landed perfectly on her feet again. Luke was stunned and stumbled back, so Natasha tackled him to the ground and flipped him so he was on his stomach. He struggled and kicked out at her, landing a kick to her stomach. She gasped in pain, but quickly recovered. She punched him in the kidney and he screamed, and she pushed his head down against the floor, then pushed down in his lower back with her knees to prevent him from moving. Luke kept struggling, and, in one fluent motion, Natasha spun off him, grabbed his arm, and held it between her hands and twisted it, placing her legs around his shoulder to disable him, like an MMA move.

He squirmed and writhed. His free arm lashed out and his fist struck Natasha in the face, reopening the closed wound on her cheek, and bringing back the headache with a vengeance. She grimaced with the pain and effort, but her grip remained unrelenting. She released her grip on his hand with one hand and punched him in the side of the head, enough to daze him, then returned her hand to his wrist. Blood dribbled out of his nose and mouth, and Natasha twisted his arm even more, until he cried out in agony and begged her to stop. When he stopped struggling, she released him and placed one foot on his back as she reached for the gun. Once she had the gun, she knelt down on top of him and pressed it to his shoulder blade. "Don't move." She whispered in his ear, and he nodded. "Say sorry." She added.

"What?" Luke asked in confusion. Natasha's slammed the butt of the gun down against his shoulder blade, and he cried out in pain. She had definitely cracked his scapula. "Stop! Stop! I'm sorry!" He screamed.

"Not to me, dumbass. Say sorry to these people, to the passengers who have lost their friends and family because you and your idiot friend decided to bomb the train! Say sorry to the families at their homes who are waiting for people they still don't know are dead! You sick son of a bitch!" Natasha yelled, and she slammed the butt of the gun into his shoulder again. He screamed in agony. Natasha was furious. Her face felt hot and red with agony, and her muscles twitched with the urge to pull the trigger. She was seeing red, and she was almost losing control. But, a small nagging voice in the back of her mind told her not to shoot, to let the authorities and families of the deceased deal with him. Shooting him would be the easy way out. He deserved to suffer. And she wanted him to live long enough for her to make him suffer.

"What?" Luke said again, and Natasha slammed the butt of the gun down on his shoulder blade again. He screamed and writhed beneath her, but he was weakening quickly. He cried out in agony as she did it again. "Okay, _okay_. I will. I will. I'm sorry." Luke said. Natasha nodded, and slammed the gun against his forehead, knocking him out.

She stood up and stared at the pathetic mess in front of her. For a long moment, she stared at the gun in her hands, and glanced at Luke lying on the floor, then she placed the gun in her belt and lowered her jacket back down so it covered the gun. She stumbled over to the first aid kit and pulled out the medical tape. She used half the role to hogtie Luke, and she used the scissors to cut a strip of Luke's jacket off, and then she gagged him so when he woke up he was stuck and he wouldn't be able to speak. Then, she gently dragged the Prime Minister back next to the other passengers and covered him with blankets, and instructed the other passengers to stay quiet and to stay huddled up as close as they could. She placed a pillow beneath the Prime Minister's sweaty head, then found the last two bottles of water and told the passengers to share it amongst themselves.

She was aching all over, she was stiff and hurting and her heart was pounding so fast that it was hurting her chest. Her head pounded and her eyes burned. She was so tired and so sore, she just needed to sit down. But she couldn't relax until she knew that Steve was okay, and that Harry was unconscious, unarmed and injured.

She watched the door of the compartment closely, waiting for Steve to walk through it with an unconscious Harry slung over his shoulder. For minutes she watched the door, but no one came. She glanced back at the passengers and sighed in contemplation. They were watching her. All of them. And she could see the hope in their bloodshot eyes. She and Steve were their ticket out, and it was a lot of responsibility to carry. "Are we going to be okay?" Someone with a German accent asked. Natasha looked at the person who had asked her that. It was a middle aged man, with graying, balding hair, and almost black eyes. He was covered in soot and dust, and he had a slightly bloodied gauze pad taped down against his forehead. Natasha didn't answer for a long time.

Were they going to be okay? She wasn't sure. The blizzard could go on for days, and they could freeze to death, and they could starve, they could get caught in an avalanche, or maybe the rescue and recovery team wouldn't find them until it was too late. The Trans-Siberian Railway was long, huge in fact, and searching for a train along it could take days. Natasha risked a glance at the President, silently searching for an answer from him. He watched her for a while, and eventually understood her silent question. She was asking if she should lie. He nodded. So Natasha said, "Yes. We'll get out of here." The man nodded and smiled, revealing very yellow but almost perfectly straight teeth. A lifelong smoker.

Natasha waited for another five minutes. She wanted to give Steve a chance, and she wanted to be around in case Luke regained consciousness, despite the fact that it was highly unlikely. She had hit him pretty hard. She sat down beside one of the passengers. A young woman with red hair and blue eyes and freckles that dotted her nose. She had a bandage around her left arm, and she was breathing shallowly as if it hurt, but she didn't look like she was in too much pain, which meant nothing was broken, Natasha hoped. She looked at Natasha cautiously, then relaxed as if she had determined Natasha wasn't a threat. Then, she sighed wearily and said, "My husband is waiting for me back in America. I was supposed to be back next week."

"And you will be." Natasha replied, happy to fill the endless minutes with insignificant chit chat. Usually she liked silence, she wasn't much of a 'feelings person'. But, the conversation seemed to distract the other passengers, and it calmed them, and it gave them hope, so Natasha was willing to speak to the woman beside her. "How long have you been married?"

"Eleven years in July. Amazing, huh?" She replied. Her voice was shaky and weak, and tears filled her eyes. Natasha raised an eyebrow, wondering what to do to provide comfort to a complete stranger who was entrusting her life in Natasha. Natasha ended up just patting her hand gently, before retracting her own and staring at the doorway again. She was starting to get worried. It had been a long time. "Our wedding song was True Companion by Marc Cohn." The lady shared, watching Natasha as if waiting for an enthusiastic response.

"I like that song." The German said, and he smiled.

The other passengers slowly got involved in the conversation. Luke was still unconscious. Natasha figured that it was a good a time as any to heck on Steve, while Luke was out and the passengers were distracted. So, she stood on slightly unsteady legs and stumbled towards the door, climbing over fallen debris and hoisting herself up to the door. She staggered through the next compartment, her eyes naturally traveling to the dried stain of blood where she had found Luke. She felt hatred burn inside of her as she remembered helping him, protecting him. That son of a bitch. She kept moving and practically fell into the next compartment. It was a mess. It was absolutely destroyed, and now that the dust had settled, her gaze traveled over to where she had seen Steve, and her gaze landed on the puddle of blood on the floor. The wind howled in through the destroyed wall and blew her hair into her face and mouth. She struggled against the force and pushed forward until she was closer to the gap in the wall. Then she heard it.

A groan. A grunt of pain. Skin connecting with skin. And she ran towards the sounds, ignoring the snow and wind and cold.

* * *

_Then he lunged._

Steve's shoulder hit Harry in the chest, catching him off guard as he fumbled for the trigger of his gun. Steve hoisted him up into the air, then tackled him to the ground with a thud, and the gun went flying out of Harry's hand. He grunted and cried out in both shock and pain. Steve landed a bone crushing punch to Harry's cheek, splitting skin. Harry's head flung to the side, and he was momentarily dazed. But he recovered almost immediately, and his hand quickly found Steve's shoulder wound, and he pushed down hard with his thumb on one side and forefinger on the other side. Steve gasped in pain and his body involuntarily tensed and spasmed as he collapsed onto his side and scrambled out of Harry's grip. Harry laughed in delight at seeing Steve's pain.

He was on Steve an instant later, punching and punching and punching. Steve's vision grayed, and his head pounded, and his broken nose throbbed with such intensity that it brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly Harry was Bucky, and Steve stared at him in shock. His fist was coming down in slow motion. "Buck?" Steve croaked. But how could it be Bucky? Bucky was dead. The blood loss and pain was making Steve delusional, and he blinked repeatedly to try and bring himself back to the present. Harry's face was pinched in confusion, and his attention faltered when he heard Steve say, '_Buck_'. And that was all the distraction Steve needed. He landed a hard punch to Harry's chest, and he heard the satisfying snap of a rib breaking.

Harry fell onto his back, and Steve scrambled up and fell on top of him, and delivered punch after punch to Harry's stomach. Harry groaned and cried out in pain, and he weakly tried to push Steve off. Harry was panting and whimpering in pain and effort, and Steve's world was spinning around him, but he kept pushing himself, he kept fighting. Then Harry said, "Kill me, then." Steve's next punch stopped midair. He stared at Harry in bewilderment. He wasn't going to kill Harry, it was too easy, it was the easy way out and he needed to suffer for making the passengers of the train suffer. Wind whipped past Steve and bit into his skin, but he hardly noticed it. He backed off a bloodied and bruised Harry, and shook his head.

"No." He said simply. "No." Harry hadn't moved from his position, sprawled out across the snow. His eyes were only half open, and his face was already bruising and swelling.

"You think you're better than me and Luke because you won't kill us? Is that what you think?" Harry taunted, getting to all fours slowly as he spat out phlegmy blood. He wiped his mouth with the back of his suit jacket, and used the tree beside him to get to his feet unsteadily. He was shivering and trembling because of the cold, and probably because of the pain, and maybe the adrenaline. He stared at Steve icily. Steve stared back coldly. Steve's heart was pounding so fast that he could hardly hear anything over the sound of it. He was sweating despite the cold, and he could feel his knees tremble under his weight. His chest burnt and ached fiercely, he couldn't feel his left arm anymore, and his face stung. He was losing strength, so he needed to finish it, right then and there.

"No, I would be a better person if I killed you now. Trust me. I want to keep you alive because you deserve to suffer." Steve replied, narrowing his eyes in silent competition. He took a step closer to Harry, a tactic he had seen Natasha use often. Harry said nothing, and Steve said nothing more. For a long time, they stared at each other, silently, sizing each other up still. Then Harry sprung to his right, where the gun had fallen. Steve jumped forward, and his body collided with Harry's midair. They fell almost on top of each other. But Harry's fingers still managed to curl around the gun, and he slammed it against Steve's shoulder, sending Steve reeling.

But Steve recovered quickly and he jumped on top of Harry and struggled for the gun. They turned and twisted and rolled in the snow, delivering poorly aimed punches occasionally that caused no serious damage. Steve's hand was pulling at the gun, and so was Harry's. Then, suddenly, the sound of a gunshot filled the air before the pain even hit. It was a slight stinging along Steve's thigh, and he glanced down and found his jeans torn. The bullet had grazed him but had not seriously wounded him. But it had still distracted him and given Harry enough time to slam the butt of his gun against Steve's broken nose. Steve gasped and fresh blood spewed from his nostrils, falling into the snow and turning it pink. It melted some of the snow away. Steve automatically cupped his wounded face in his right hand, forcing himself to overcome the excruciating pain. And, next time Harry tried to deliver a blow to the face, Steve saw the gun before it managed to hit him, and he dodged to the side, avoiding it by a hair's breadth.

He dove forward and tackled Harry by his legs. They fell to the floor and Steve grabbed for the gun as Harry involuntarily released it. Then, he slammed the gun into Harry's face, hearing the sound of his nose breaking. Harry cried out in pain, and Steve landed a hard punch to his chest, right by his broken rib, and Harry screamed in agony. Another punch to the stomach had Harry vomiting up bile and phlegm. Steve stood up quickly and held the gun in his trembling right hand. Black dots danced in his vision, and he could feel his knees going weak. He wouldn't be able to fight for much longer. His thoughts were becoming seriously muddled, and his reflexes were slower, and his body wasn't cooperating with his mind. All he needed to do was shoot Harry somewhere where it would debilitate him but not kill him. He aimed the gun at Harry's bicep, right where the muscle was, and shot. But nothing filled the air except the all too familiar click of an empty chamber.

Harry rose to his feet shakily, and Steve discarded the gun to the side. Steve's throat and mouth were as dry as sandpaper, and his eyes were watering, and his nose was running, or was that blood? He wasn't sure. He couldn't tell. His vision was too blurry and too gray to see anything. His head pounded in tune with his heart and he could feel his ribs rattling with each labored breath. Harry wasn't looking much better. He was holding onto a tree for support, and he was staring at Steve with narrowed eyes and a scowl. Steve took a deep breath, or as deep as his ribs would allow, and tried to stand steadily. "You didn't have to do this. You could have carried on living your life happily." Steve said, in a ditch attempt to subdue Harry.

"Yeah, well, coulda shoulda woulda." Harry said, cocking an eyebrow as if daring Steve to argue with him. "Ain't nothing that can change that now. This is the end of the line for you." The air rushed out of Steve's lungs and he stood motionless as he stared at Harry. _I'm with you till the end of the line. _Those words repeated in Steve's mind over and over and over as he watched Harry straighten up. Bucky had said that to him once. Then Steve wondered why Bucky wasn't helping him fight Harry. And he got kind of angry. Then he remembered. Bucky was dead. He had killed Bucky, even though he didn't mean to, he felt like it was his fault, and to him that was the equivalent of killing Bucky himself. Steve was finding it increasingly difficult to differentiate between past and present. Fact and fiction.

Then, Harry lunged and his shoulder hit Steve in the chest, hard. It brought Steve back to the present. Air rushed out of his lungs and Steve saw only black for a moment before his blurry sight returned. Agony tore through him and threatened to pull him into darkness. He managed to curl his right hand into a fist and drive it into Harry's face, again and again and again until blood dripped from Harry's wounds onto Steve and mixed in with his own. He kept punching, ignoring Harry's groans and grunts of pain, ignoring the jabs Harry delivered to his chest and stomach and shoulder. He kept punching until Harry's body went limp and fell bonelessly on top of Steve. Then, he pushed Harry off his body and turned on his side and vomited blood laced bile. That wasn't good. That wasn't good at all.

Then Natasha emerged from the train, and she stared at Steve in horror before dropping to his side and holding his damaged face in her hands. Her hands were immediately covered with fresh blood. Was that Steve's? He couldn't tell. The world around him was spinning and tilting and Natasha was speaking but he couldn't hear what she was saying. She was screaming and shaking him, but he couldn't hear her, he could hardly see her through the haze. Then, after agonizingly long minutes, he could just barely make out what she was saying. "Please Steve, I need you to stay awake." She begged. She sounded so much like Peggy. And Steve had to remind himself that Peggy was dead, too.

"Okay." He slurred. Was that his voice? It sounded so unfamiliar, so disembodied. But apparently it was he who said it because Natasha sighed in relief and slumped back. Then her gaze traveled to an unconscious Harry. She crawled around Steve and dropped beside Harry. She checked his pulse and nodded. He was still alive.

"I need you to stand up. You need to help me carry him inside." Natasha said. Steve nodded but didn't really comprehend. Natasha helped him to his feet slowly, supporting most of his weight, and holding him up as he turned an ugly shade of green and vomited more bloodied bile. "Damn it, Steve." Natasha said, trying to sound angry, but Steve could hear the panic in her voice. Slowly, he managed to pull his weight off of her and stand by himself. His vision wavered and blurred, but he was standing upright. For now. "Grab his one arm. We need to get him inside. Can you do it?" Natasha asked him, and she watched him worriedly.

"Yes." He replied. But he wasn't so sure he could. He would try anyway. He lifted Harry's one arm up as Natasha pulled the other and looped it over her shoulders. Harry's weight on his damaged body almost made him double over in agony, but he resisted because he had to. The trek back to the last compartment was long and hard. Steve kept stumbling over debris and ridges in the wood. The destruction in the compartments reminded Steve of the war, and his innumerable rescue missions, and more than once he had to remind himself what year he was in. He felt lost and confused and panicked. Whether it was the blood loss or the pain or the concussion, Steve wasn't sure, but either way, he was confused. The pain got worse with each step, and his vision worsened. His headache spiked to levels he had never experienced before. But he kept pushing because he had to. Finally, when they reached the last compartment, Steve glanced at the passengers, then at a hogtied and unconscious Luke.

He couldn't really remember everything that had happened in the previous few hours. He couldn't piece it all together. His head was swimming. Memories and the present were warping together. Then, his vision turned to black as he collapsed to the floor bonelessly, taking Harry and Natasha down with him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys. First off, I would like to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed on my last chapter! They were all so supportive and kind and humbling. **

**And, as always, thanks so much to my favoriters/followers. It means a lot to me.**

**Also, just a reminder that this takes place before CATWS but, there might be a few very minor spoilers in this chapter. **

**Enjoy this chapter, sorry that it's so short!**

* * *

Natasha watched as Steve dropped to the floor heavily, and she was pulled down with him. She scrambled out from underneath Harry and crawled over to Steve. The other passengers gasped collectively and some sat up straighter, others had to hold in tears that threatened to spill. Natasha's pulse was racing and her throat constricted. Steve was unconscious. He lay in a heap on the floor, blood was smeared across his swollen face, his left shoulder was covered in blood, and his breathing was coming in short gasps. Natasha wiped her sweaty palms on her dirty jeans that had now become almost brown instead of blue. With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse on Steve's neck. It was there, but it was extremely faint.

Natasha glanced at a still unconscious Harry and gulped nervously. She needed to take care of him before she could even think of taking care of Steve. If he woke up and he wasn't tied down, he would definitely attempt to make a move, and Natasha couldn't risk it. She dragged him through the debris until she reached the spot on the floor where she had left a hogtied Luke. Blood was dripping from Luke's mouth, and he was still unconscious. Natasha searched for the roll of medical tape and used it to hogtie Harry. She used whatever remained of the tape to tie the two men together by their hands and feet.

Then, she stumbled back to Steve and she positioned him so he was lying flat on his back with his knees bent in the air. She felt his pulse again, and bit her lip nervously. It was weak and thready. "Don't you dare leave me, Steve." Natasha whispered in his ear. She pulled his parka and shirt up and checked his chest. It was black and blue and red, and it was rising unevenly. His shoulder was a mess of bloody bandaging, and his back was a mess of oozing burns. She searched the room frantically, wondering what she could use to help him. All that remained was some bandaging and a few Tylenol pills, which were completely useless anyway. She scrambled for a pillow and placed it underneath Steve's head, then she gently kissed his sweaty, bloody, feverish forehead and she stood up and ran.

She grabbed the emptied first aid kit box, then stumbled and climbed and struggled over debris until she reached the last compartment of the overturned train. She ran outside and scooped ice into the box, and she dared to glance at the spot where she had found Steve and Harry wrestling on the ground. The snow was still pink with both Steve and Harry's blood. It made her gag. That blood should have been in Steve's body. She looked up at the pitch black night sky, and was pleased to find that the blizzard seemed to be dying down. She turned on her heels and trudged back to the train, then staggered back to the last compartment where she found Steve in the same position she had left him in. The woman with red hair was beside him, gently running her finger along Steve's forehead. She looked up at Natasha and said, "Let me help."

Natasha didn't say anything, she just nodded and dropped down beside the woman. She opened the box filled with snow, then got the woman to hold Steve's upper body up so she could pull off his parka. The woman grunted and groaned with the effort, but she managed to hold his body up, and Natasha unzipped the parka and carefully pulled it off his arms. She cut off what remained of his tattered jacket using the scissors that had been discarded on the floor, then she pulled his shirt up and off his arms so it just hung on his neck. The woman gagged at the sight of Steve's bruised and burnt body and bloodied shoulder, and she whispered, "How long has he been like this?"

"The whole time." Natasha answered, and she heard the other passengers gasp and murmur as they heard her. She hoped they appreciated just how hard he had tried to keep them safe. He deserved to be appreciated. The woman gulped and a tear slipped down her dirty cheek. Natasha's attention returned to Steve, and she pulled the bloodied bandaging off his shoulder. She glanced around the room then asked, "Is there any more water left?" Someone nodded in response, the Greek president, and he stood and walked towards Natasha and handed her the bottle, but he didn't walk away, he just dropped to his knees beside Natasha. He wanted to help, too.

Natasha unscrewed the lid of the bottle and sucked in a sharp breath before pouring the water directly onto Steve's wound. It washed most of the blood and dirt away. She got the president and the lady to turn Steve on his side slightly so she could do the same to the back of his shoulder. She threw the discarded water bottle to the side, and used some gauze to dry the wound. Then, she opened the first aid kit and scooped out some snow and layered it on the wound. She wasn't sure how it would help, but she figured it would help flush out the wound and hopefully ease the inflammation. She layered snow on Steve's chest and nose to lessen the swelling, and hopefully the pain, then spread the remaining snow on his back to ease the burns.

She waited until the snow melted, then used another gauze pad to dry him off before she layered gauze pads on either side of his shoulder wound. She wrapped his shoulder in a tight bandage and secured it. With the president and the lady's help, she pulled Steve's shirt back down over his body, and put his bloodied parka back on. "Go back and get under the blanket," Natasha said, without looking at either helper, but she could still see them get up and shuffle back to the wall and get back under the blanket. "Thank you." She called over her shoulder.

She dragged Steve to the corner, and she sat down so her back was leaning against the wall, and she opened her legs in a 'v'. She pulled Steve close and held him there so he was lying between her legs. Her arms were under his armpits and around his chest. Every rise and fall of his chest comforted her, because no matter how weak and labored they were, they were breaths, Steve was breathing, he was alive. The American president stood up slowly and picked up the extra blanket, then draped it over Steve. Natasha nodded a silent thanks and he smiled sadly then sat back down beneath the blanket. "You need to pull through," Natasha whispered in Steve's ear. "For me."

* * *

It had been a whole two hours since Steve had lost consciousness. The blizzard outside had died down considerably, which meant that a search and rescue party would probably be sent out soon. Luke and Harry had both regained consciousness. At first they had struggled against their restraints, but they had eventually given up and lay down, shivering. "Give them that blanket." Natasha told one of the passengers, and the passenger reluctantly stood and draped the last blanket over their bodies, before delivering bone-crushing kicks to both of them. The passenger smiled, clearly happy with himself, and Natasha smiled, too. They deserved whatever they got.

Steve hadn't woken up, which worried Natasha. He had never been unconscious for so long. Not when he was shot by a Chitauri weapon in New York, not when he had been hit over the head with a brick and cracked his skull in Beijing, and not when he had been shot in the stomach and passed out from blood loss in London. She checked his pulse compulsively every twenty minutes, and each time it was thready and weak and barely there, but his heart was beating nonetheless, and that was better than the alternative. Natasha kept running her fingers through Steve's bloodied hair, and she kept one arm wrapped around Steve's chest, because she liked to feel it move up and down with every inhale and exhale.

Eventually, Steve groaned, the first sound he had made in hours, and his eyes fluttered open. He squeezed his eyes shut again, then opened them slowly. He glanced around the dark room, then closed his eyes again and he moaned and his face twisted into a terrible grimace. He was in pain. Natasha placed one hand firmly on his forehead to ground him and said, "Steve, I need you to open your eyes for me. Can you do that?" Steve didn't do anything at first, then he blinked and his eyes opened revealing hazy, pained blue eyes that couldn't really focus on anything around him. "That's it." Natasha whispered in his ear.

The passengers were silent as they stared at Steve. Most of them had worried expressions on their faces, others' faces were blank or unreadable. Steve looked up at Natasha, but his eyes couldn't focus on her no matter how hard he tried. He tried to take a deep breath, but it ended up being a desperate yelp of pain, and he tried to curl in on himself, but Natasha held him back, and steadied him by running a hand through his hair comfortingly, and gently running her finger up and down his sternum. Then he cleared his throat, and he said, "Peg?" His voice was weak and hoarse, like it hurt to speak.

"Steve, it's Natasha." Natasha said desperately. His eyes still weren't focused on her. "It's Nat." Natasha gulped worriedly. He was dazed and confused, and maybe it was just because he had just regained consciousness, but Natasha had a feeling it was more due to the fact that he probably had a pretty bad concussion, and had lost a lot of blood, and was in a lot of pain. Nevertheless, she still hoped he would snap out of it and rejoin her in the present and they could wait together until help arrived, fully lucid, fully aware. But she couldn't shake the nagging that that wouldn't be the case. And Natasha had learnt to listen to that nagging, it usually turned out to be right.

Steve just stared at her for a long time, looking but not really seeing, then he said, "Peg?" Natasha heart broke, and fresh tears formed in Steve's eyes. She wiped them off his cheek quickly, and whispered soothing things in his ear. "I'm sorry, Peg." Steve whispered sadly. Should she tell him who she was, or should she play along? She thought about it for a long time, and eventually she decided it was probably better to just play along. He was way too confused and far gone to even register what she was saying anyway. "I'm so sorry." Steve repeated, and tears slipped down his cheeks.

"Sorry for what?" Natasha asked. She knew about Peggy only because she had heard about her in passing when SHIELD had told them that Steve would be their captain. But, she didn't really know who she had been to Steve, or what had really happened between them. She had never heard Steve talk about Peggy, and she had never really felt the need to ask. The only time he had ever even uttered Peggy's name was when he had been sleeping fitfully after he had been shot in London, and he had muttered Peggy's name over and over for almost half an hour. But Natasha had never mentioned it to anyone and she had never really brought it up again to Steve. It wasn't her business, and, as far as she was concerned, she didn't want it to be. But, seeing how Steve spoke to her, because he thought she was Peggy, made her realize that he had loved Peggy once, cared for her deeply. Maybe he still did. Whatever the relation between them was, he had loved her.

"I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry." Steve whispered. His voice was shaky with tears, and he was staring right through Natasha. She felt uneasy and unsure of herself. Steve's trembling right hand lifted and landed on her leg, and he squeezed the material with a sweaty palm. Natasha lowered her hand from his forehead and placed it on top of his hand, and squeezed until his fingers wrapped around hers. "I'm sorry I didn't make our date." Steve added, and he gasped as he tried to hold in a sob. He attempted to get up, but he only cried out in pain and fell back down against Natasha heavily.

"You're here now," Natasha whispered back. She didn't want anyone else to hear their conversation, because it was none of their business. "And that's all that matters, you hear me?" She wasn't really sure what date Steve was talking about, but she needed to make sure that he stayed calm. She hated seeing him carry the guilt around with him. She felt like all he needed to hear was what he wanted to hear, and whether it was coming from her mouth or Peggy's, it didn't matter, as long as he heard those words.

"But I crashed into that ice," Steve said, and he twisted to look up at Natasha before gasping and falling back down again, curling into himself only slightly. "I missed our date all because I crashed into the ice. Did Howard find me? Is that why I'm here?" Steve asked, and his hazy blue eyes shone with interest and hope.

"Steve, you crashing into that ice saved the world, so don't you dare apologize." Natasha said, her voice firm and certain, but she couldn't completely mask the worry that consumed her every thought. She suddenly realized what Steve was talking about. She remembered hearing about when Steve had woken up for the first time after he had been found in the ice. He had been in the middle of Time Square and he had met Fury. Then he had said, "It's just, I had a date." Natasha put two and two together, and she felt a sort of ache in her chest for Steve. She leaned down further and whispered, "I forgive you. I respect you."

Steve nodded as if that was all he had wanted to hear all along. He relaxed a little and searched the room again, frowning. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned in pain again. Then his eyes snapped open, and he sat up quickly, crying out in pain, but he didn't stop. He scrambled away from Natasha, and she was aware of the multiple pairs of eyes on them. The passengers watched intensely, unblinking and unmoving and speechless. But she didn't care anymore. All she cared about was making sure Steve was okay. Tears shone in his eyes as he watched her uncertainly with those unfocused eyes again, then he said, "Bucky is dead." It was probably meant to be a statement, but it sounded like a question. Natasha knew about Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes, Steve's best friend since childhood, died right in front of Steve as he fell off a train and down the mountain. Steve blames himself. Natasha nodded.

"Oh god, I... I - he... I could have - maybe if I had..." Steve trailed off and he slumped back down on the floor and covered his swollen and bruised and bloodied face with his hands, and he let out a desperate sob. Natasha was taken aback, and she heard the passengers gulp and mumble in response. She glared at them, and they saw her then looked away. Steve needed privacy, and that was the only way he was going to get any in that hell hole. "I killed him." Steve sobbed. Natasha shook her head and crawled over to Steve, and she wrapped him up in her arms and held him like a mother would hold her distraught child. She swayed side to side and shushed him and gently ran a finger along his back in an effort to comfort him. Eventually, his sobs that wracked his entire body died into sniffles, and eventually those sniffles died away completely. Steve slouched against Natasha, completely spent. She refused to let go of him, though. She just held him until he went limp in her arms as he lost consciousness again.

She was acutely aware of everyone's attention being focused on her, but she didn't care anymore. She ran her fingers along Steve's bloodied and broken chest. "Will he be okay?" One of the passengers asked, and Natasha's head snapped to the side. It was the red head who had True Companion as her wedding song. She was watching Natasha intensely. Natasha sighed and shrugged. The woman got up slowly and stumbled over to Natasha, then dropped down beside her.

"You should also rest. You need medical attention, too." The red head said, and her thumb ran along the cut on Natasha's cheek. Natasha flinched instinctively, and she winced. Natasha was aching and hurting so badly, that no matter what position she was in, it hurt. But, she didn't care because Steve needed her, and she was going to be there for him just like he would be there for her if the roles had been reversed. "Do you want me to clean your cuts?" The red head asked, and she smiled sadly. She was trying to help, but she was only annoying Natasha. Natasha shook her head, and watched Steve's cracked lips part as he drew in another shaky breath. He was so pale. The red head was watching Natasha. She sat back so she was sitting beside Natasha, and she whispered, "He will be okay, right? He's got those super healing abilities, right?"

Natasha watched her for a long time, but didn't answer. Steve did have the super healing ability, but she didn't know whether it was strong enough to fix him. He was so broken, and so hurt, and so confused, and she didn't even know if she could rely on the serum to help him. Her hands were painted with his blood. As she lifted them so that she could look at them, she realized she was trembling. She placed a trembling hand on Steve's forehead and she pulled it away quickly when she realized he was burning up. But how? The serum was supposed to prevent him from getting fevers, or infections, or illnesses. "Shit, shit!" Natasha cursed. She quickly unzipped Steve's parka and lifted his shirt up roughly so she could get a look at his shoulder. The new bandages she had put on only a couple hours ago had become stained with fresh blood. He was losing too much blood. "You want to help, right?" Natasha asked the lady beside her.

"Uh... Yeah, yeah." Th lady replied, stumbling over her words and struggling to stand up. She watched Natasha anxiously, her eyes full of anticipation. "What... What do you need help with?" She asked.

Natasha adjusted her position so she was sitting straighter, and her legs were crossed so Steve's head rested on her lap. The red head lady was kneeling beside Steve, and the other passengers were watching so closely, that Natasha felt like she was suffocating. "Just find me something I can use to stop the bleeding, please." Natasha said to the red head woman. The lady nodded and stood on shaky legs and stumbled over to the other passengers. She whispered to them as Natasha pressed down on Steve's wound with her bare hands. The American president pulled off his suit jacket and handed it to the red head, and she ran back to Natasha and handed it over. "Thanks," Natasha said. "Go sit back down."

She pressed the suit jacket down on Steve's shoulder so hard that the muscles in her arms ached. She could feel tears prick her eyes, and she let them spill. "God damn it, Steve." She whispered, and she hoped that somehow he could hear her, even in the depths of unconsciousness. She looked outside again. The blizzard had stopped, which meant the search and rescue efforts would have been officially commenced. Maybe SHIELD had even sent out a team to find them. Though, Natasha wasn't so sure. They were only supposed to be back in America the following day, so their absence might not have been noticed yet. "Steve, help is on the way. You need to stay with me, or so help me God." Natasha said, and she sighed heavily. She took another shaky breath and pressed down on the jacket harder.

* * *

"Steve, are you in pain?" Natasha asked.

He was sitting beside her with his back against the side of the overturned compartment and his legs straight out in front of him. He had a blanket over his legs, and the parka was zipped up all the way to his chin. He was pale and shaky and his eyes were still unfocused. But, he was awake. He had woken up three hours after the last time he had lost consciousness, and he had stayed awake for the last hour. He had tried to get up, but he was too unsteady on his feet to even stand, never mind walk. He had asked if everyone was okay, and Natasha had said that they were. And that was the last time he had spoken. At least he wasn't confused anymore.

He nodded slowly, and he blinked sluggishly. Natasha was holding his right hand tightly, though whether it was for her comfort or his, she wasn't sure. The other passengers had all fallen asleep, and Natasha had been tempted to sleep, but she knew she couldn't. She wanted to he there if Steve woke up again. She _needed_ to be there if he was in too much pain to handle by himself. And she was glad she had stayed awake. His breathing was so shallow and uneven and labored, that she had to guide him through it when it became too painful to carry on. She sat up a little straighter and blinked repeatedly to wake herself up. "How much pain?" Natasha asked.

She wasn't sure why she was asking, but she felt like if she knew how bad the pain was, she would be able to help him more effectively. Steve looked up at her with unfocused, pained eyes and he parted his cracked lips as if to speak. Natasha held her breath in anticipation. She hadn't realized how she longed to hear Steve's voice. No matter how terrible a situation was, Steve's voice was always so calming and grounding. He cleared his throat, and his face crumpled in agony as if it hurt to do that. "I'm okay." He said. Natasha nodded, unconvinced. Then he sat up straighter, grunting and panting in pain as he did so, and he looked at Natasha worriedly. She frowned, but said nothing. "You need to sleep," He said softly.

"Steve, I-"

"You need to sleep." He repeated, and he squeezed Natasha's hand. His left hand lifted slightly, but he was too weak and it hurt too much, and he ended up dropping it back to the floor. Natasha reached over and grabbed it softly.

Luke groaned and he started thrashing in his restraints, but Natasha and Steve ignored him. Harry muttered hushed words and Luke calmed down again. Natasha watched Steve intensely, her eyes tracing his strong jawline and perfect lips.

"Who's Peggy?" Natasha asked. Her eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as she asked the question. She hadn't even realized she had been thinking about her. She shook her head and opened then closed her mouth several times before she hung her head in embarrassment. She giggled nervously and said, "Don't answer that." She smiled apologetically, and expected Steve to rip his hands out of hers angrily, but he just smiled and managed a poor attempt at a laugh. He winced in pain and gasped as the laugh ended abruptly, but his eyes lit up like they had done so many times before. And that's when Natasha knew everything was going to be okay. Maybe not right then, maybe not even soon, but eventually it would all work out.

Natasha looked back at the window and bit her lip absentmindedly. She was sitting so close to Steve that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. It had an odd calming effect on her. Her attention was diverted back to Steve when she heard him clear his throat again. He was still looking at her. He said, "Peggy is someone I met in the army. Someone special." Steve smiled slightly, and his voice adopted a dreamlike quality. He was looking just over Natasha's shoulder, at the window above them, and he sighed. "She was... She _is_ very special to me."

"What did she look like?" Natasha asked. She enjoyed seeing Steve look so happy. It seemed as though all his aches and pains were forgotten, instead replaced by the thoughts of Peggy. She was happy that he was happy. But, despite the fact that she refused to acknowledge it, she was jealous. She wasn't sure why. She never really thought about Steve, or lusted for him, or even found him attractive. He was always just her captain. And, more recently, one of her best friends. But, as he spoke about Peggy, Natasha felt a pang in her heart. She knew he would never talk about her like that. She knew he would never feel for her the way he did for Peggy. And, even though she couldn't explain why, it upset her. But those remained feelings she refused to acknowledge.

"She was beautiful," Steve said. "She had this olive skin that looked golden, and she had this long blackish brown hair that hung in perfect curls. And she always wore this bright red lipstick that stood out against her complexion. And she had this voice that always managed to make me feel calm." Natasha felt a second pang in her heart. Steve's voice made her feel calm, no matter what. She nodded silently, but said nothing more, though she doubted Steve would hear her if she did. He was too caught up in his own memories. "She liked me for me, you know? Not for the serum." Steve added.

"And you miss her?" Natasha asked.

"Not always, well... yeah," Steve replied. Natasha cocked an eyebrow and waited for Steve to explain. "She's still alive. I visit her all the time. But she forgets, you know? She doesn't remember. And she's old, Nat." Steve's hoarse voice cracked and new tears shone in his eyes. He sighed and looked down at his lap. He continued, "I miss what we could have had. I miss what we did have. I miss her."

"And you love her?"

"More than anything." Steve replied, his voice confident despite how weak he was. Natasha swallowed the newly formed lump in her throat and nodded. _Why was she so upset? Did she feel more for Steve than she was willing to admit? Or was she just tired and sore and confused?_

Natasha didn't know how to respond to that, so she just looked away and squeezed Steve's hand. Then, she felt Steve tense beside her. Her head snapped to the side as she looked at him. He was tense, and his eyes were wide open, and his mouth was open slightly. He was staring at her, and his bloodshot eyes were shining with panic. "Steve, what's wrong?" Natasha asked worriedly. She immediately sprung to her knees and cupped Steve's face in her bloodied and dirtied hands. He watched her and his face twisted into a terrible grimace. He started panting and his body started trembling and his face paled even further. "Steve!" Natasha yelled, and she didn't even care when the other passengers woke up.

"Nat!" Steve cried, and he choked then sputtered and coughed. He started gasping for air. Natasha was trying to get him to look at her, but his eyes were searching the room frantically. "I... I... N-Nat, I can't... Please-I can't... Br-breathe." Steve gasped, and he suddenly wrenched away from Natasha's grasp and turned on his side. He started dry heaving, then he started vomiting. Blood laced vomit spilled out of his mouth and he started gagging and choking. His entire body tensed and relaxed with every awful heave.

Then, he vomited again. And, this time, the vomit only consisted of bloof. Natasha wrapped her arms around him and whispered soothing things in his ear. She turned to the other passengers and saw them watching. "Give him fucking privacy!" Natasha yelled, and the other passengers turned away quickly. Natasha cupped Steve's face in her hands again when he stopped vomiting. "Steve, stay with me." She begged. But, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his eyelids closed, and he went limp in her arms. "Please don't do this to me, Steve." She begged, but he couldn't hear her. "Steve, come on!"

Soon, Natasha's begging died down, and there was only silence. Steve was breathing, but barely. Then, the wind around them howled, and the sound of rotors ran across the air. It was a helicopter. Maybe more than one.

Help had finally arrived. But they might have been too late, because Steve wasn't breathing anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi guys. So, I'm sorry for the long wait. I would like to say a giant thank you to everyone who reviewed or favorited or followed my story so far. **

**This story is almost over. Yay! Probably only one or two more chapters left. This chapter is short, I know, but I'm trying my hardest to juggle my responsibilities at school and home and this site. So, I am trying. Thanks for understanding. **

****

* * *

"_Steve_!" Natasha yelled. Her heart was pounding so loud that she couldn't even hear her own voice over it. Steve's body collapsed to the floor and she fumbled to grab a hold of him in a poor attempt to stop him from hitting the ground. He weighed more than two hundred pounds, and his dead weight ended up just pulling her down with him. She fell on top of him, but quickly scrambled to climb to her knees. Her knees were placed on either side of his stomach so she was leaning directly over him. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted, and his features were relaxed. He looked like he was sleeping, except he wasn't. He wasn't breathing. He was dying. The invincible Super Soldier of the '40s was dying. "Don't do this to me!" She screeched. Her voice was high pitched and it kept cracking.

The wind generated by the rotors on the helicopters howled around the overturned train and drowned out the sound of Natasha's desperate screams. Steve was lying underneath her. He was pale and his lips were turning a light shade of blue, though whether it was due to the lack of oxygen or the cold, Natasha wasn't sure. She lifted up her trembling hands and wrapped the one around the other then pushed down on Steve's chest. She began compressions. One. Two. Three. She moved forward so her ear was closer to his mouth. He still wasn't breathing. Four. Five. Six. He still wasn't breathing, so she pushed harder and faster. Seven. Eight. Nine. There was a background noise of sirens and screams and megaphones and crying. Natasha couldn't hear it. She moved her ear closer to Steve's mouth. He wasn't breathing. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

There were bright lights outside. They were blinding. But Natasha ignored them. She didn't even notice them despite the fact that the other injured and tired passengers shielded their teary eyes immediately. The sound of loud footsteps filled the air the second the sound of helicopters died down. They had landed. People were coming for Natasha and the passengers and Harry and Luke, but, most importantly, they were coming for Steve. Natasha's eyes were filled with unshed tears as she leaned in closer so her ear was by Steve's mouth. He still wasn't breathing. Men rushed into the overturned compartment kitted in Kevlar vests and machine guns and helmets and army regulation boots. Natasha didn't even see them. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Her arms stung with the effort. With each compression, she could feel Steve's broken ribs crunch and turn and scrape under her touch. She was probably doing more damage than good, but she needed Steve to be okay. She needed him to breathe and she wasn't going to sit by idly and wait for rescue to come.

The shouting was louder now as the men in the room started giving out instructions in both English and Russian. Natasha heard them, but she didn't listen to them. Hands in the air. Wait for paramedics. The instructions blurred into one long incomprehensible sentence. She leaned in closer to Steve's mouth, and he still wasn't breathing. His fingertips had gone cold and his broken and swollen and bruised nose was ice cold. Natasha was hot. So hot. She pressed her hands against Steve's chest again, and as she was about to push down, strong arms wrapped around her bruised stomach. People were talking to her and yelling at her and begging her to move, but she couldn't hear them. Her attention was focused solely on Steve. The arms wrapped around her a stomach started pulling her away, and she struggled. Her legs and arms swung about and flailed and jerked as she wearily attempted to fight off whoever was holding her, but the grip was unrelenting. "Steve," She whispered desperately as she saw blurry figures gather around him.

The tears running down her cheeks were hot and continuous. They created tracks in her dirtied face. The arms were still wrapped firmly around her but she still pushed and pulled weakly to get to Steve as the figures started poking and prodding him. She needed to be next to him. She needed to make sure he was okay. She was vaguely aware of the other passengers being strapped down to gurneys and backboards. She was barely aware of Luke and Harry being separated as someone cut through the tape with scissors before they were properly handcuffed and escorted away on backboards. She was no longer aware of the people talking to her and talking about her among themselves.

Suddenly, her arms and legs felt heavy, like they were weighing her down, and she couldn't find the strength to struggle any longer. The energy drained out of her fast. More hands were touching her and holding her now. She didn't care. She just kept staring at Steve as he was loaded onto a backboard. Her arms and legs were made of lead. She couldn't hold herself up anymore, so she didn't. She went limp and the arms around her stomach tightened even further and lowered her to the floor slowly. Her eyes stung and her head pounded and every single part of her body ached mercilessly. She couldn't concentrate. She couldn't hear anything but a distant ringing that didn't actually exist. Her vision was blurring. People's heads started hovering over her and they were speaking to her, but their lips were simply moving for Natasha, not making sound. Until a familiar face came into view.

_Fury_. Fury was hovering above her. He wasn't speaking. She tried to say his name but all that came out was a pathetic groan. She could feel his hand on her cheek and he started talking to her. She couldn't hear him. But she knew what he was saying. "It will be okay. It's okay." He said over and over and over again. Everything was a blur of movement and noise. Natasha nodded with what little remaining strength she had left, then she slipped into the overwhelming blackness that started creeping into her vision before eventually consuming her entire being. Fury's words repeated in her head constantly. But she didn't believe them. She didn't believe them because she wasn't sure whether Steve was okay or not. And if he wasn't, then Fury was wrong. It was not okay. It would never be okay.

* * *

When Natasha woke up again, she was in an unfamiliar room. The walls were white and the windows were covered by white wooden blinds that shut out any sunlight. She was in an uncomfortably hard bed that was slightly raised so she was in an almost seated position. Light blue sheets covered her up to her waist. She was wearing a light blue hospital gown and plain white cotton hospital socks. There was a constant beeping from the machine by her head that monitored her heart rate and oxygen levels. There was an IV attached to her hand, and a separate IV feeding her weak painkillers. There was a white chair in the corner of the room, and a table that could be wheeled around the room at the foot of her bed.

She couldn't remember how she ended up in a hospital room. She tried to take stock of her body. The painkillers had numbed the pain she had once felt before she passed out. Her head was still pounding, just at a far more bearable level. Her arm stung a little, and as she lifted it she noticed the thick bandaging that covered her arm, close to her shoulder. She remembered getting shot at. She lifted up her hand and touched her forehead gently. There was a gauze pad taped down to the top of her forehead, along her hairline. She remembered waking up in the destroyed bathroom of the train, and that was how she got the laceration along her hairline. But, the general aches and pains that generally come with stiffness of the morning after were nonexistent. The only thing that bugged her was the fact that her memory was hazy.

Suddenly, it hit her like a train. Steve. He hadn't been breathing. He had been dying. She had done chest compressions but they hadn't helped. The last thing she remembered was seeing Steve getting loaded onto a backboard, then it all turned to black in her mind. She could hear the monitor by her head speed up as she ripped the IVs out of her hand and jumped out of the bed, almost slipping on the clean tiled flooring. She pulled the clamp off of her finger and a constant, ear piercing buzzing filled the air. A doctor rushed in, his red hair untidy and his fair skin almost luminescent under the lighting. "Ma'am, you have to get back into bed." He said quickly, his eyes searching the machines and Natasha and the empty bed frantically, as if he wasn't seeing right. His accent was American. She was back in America.

Fury walked in slowly after the doctor, his hands behind his back and his posture perfect. He placed a hand on the frantic doctor's shoulder and the doctor turned on his heels to face Fury. Fury flicked his head towards the door silently, and the doctor hesitated before nodding in silent understanding. He sighed and hurried over to the machine to turn it off, and the buzzing stopped. He nodded at Natasha and attempted to smile, but it turned into an impatient grimace and he ended up just looking away and practically running out of the hospital room. Fury closed the door once the doctor had left and he walked closer to Natasha. He was calm. Natasha was not. "Where is he?" She asked him. "Where's Steve?"

Fury looked at her but didn't answer. She was about to push him into answering her, but her thoughts inevitably drifted to Luke and Harry. She wasn't sure whether they knew that Luke and Harry were the masterminds behind the bombing. And that they had targeted the English Prime Minister. She didn't know whether the politicians were okay, whether they made it out okay. She didn't know whether the American President was angry with her for not doing her job properly. She should have stopped the bomb before it even went off. She wasn't sure of whether the other passengers were okay or not. Did everyone else make it out alive? Her mind was running continuously as new thoughts popped into her head and old ones popped out. It was overwhelming. She dropped back down onto the bed and sighed heavily. She covered her pale face with her hands. At least they had gone to the effort of cleaning the dirt and soot off of her. "How long have I been out?" She asked wearily.

"Almost twenty-four hours." Fury said slowly. Natasha shot up and her eyes widened as she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She suddenly felt sore and tired and fatigued, and she slipped back down onto the bed. She was cold. She was shivering. She was trying not to break down. She needed to stay composed and stay in control. Never show weakness.

"Harry and Luke?" She asked, assuming Fury knew who she was talking about. Her voice sounded so distant, so foreign.

"Harry Rogers and Luke McCormack were apprehended on the scene," Fury said, sitting on the bed beside Natasha. She felt the bed sink underneath his weight and she subconsciously leaned in closer to him. "Luke McCormack was rushed into emergency surgery after the paramedics determined he had severe internal bleeding." He suddenly stopped talking as though he wasn't sure how to phrase the rest of the sentence. He gazed at Natasha's face, and she nodded, silently encouraging him to continue. "He didn't survive the surgery." Natasha nodded, and although she felt a sense of guilt for Luke's death, she also felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Harry Rogers is still unconscious in a heavily guarded room in London. SHIELD agents are personally guarding his room. He will be taken to trial and prosecuted once he's woken up."

"I want to talk to him, too." Natasha said quietly.

"You will." Fury said, nodding.

Natasha nodded and managed a small smile. They were out of her hands, and she could finally relax knowing that Harry would be brought to justice. She sunk deeper into the pillows on the bed and took a deep breath. She was still weighed down. The largest weight was still resting on her shoulders. Was Steve okay? She leaned forward, and the pain and aches overwhelming her abused and bruised body suddenly disappeared altogether. Just like it had been before she lost consciousness, her attention was now solely focused on Steve. "Where is Steve?" She asked, hoping for the best, but deep down expecting the worst. Fury hesitated, and looked away from her. She leaned in closer to him and said, "_Nick, where is Steve?" _Her voice had adopted a more confident, intimidating tone.

"He..." Fury said, pausing as he locked his gaze with Natasha's. "He wasn't breathing when the paramedics reached him." Natasha remembered when Steve had collapsed to the floor as he stopped breathing. She remembered doing compressions but not getting any result. She remembered that she had never felt such panic before in her life. She remembered being overwhelmed by the fear and worry that Steve wouldn't wake up again. Her heartbeat sped up and she could feel her throat constricting. The way Fury was speaking insinuated that Steve hadn't made it, or wasn't going to make it. "They managed to resuscitate him, and they rushed him into emergency surgery. He lost a lot of blood and had a lot of internal damage. The serum is under a lot of pressure right now, and we can't be sure that it will be able to fix him this time. It's never been tested to such an extent."

"I want to see him." Natasha said without hesitation as she stood up again. She felt so exposed in the hospital gown. It made her feel vulnerable, especially since she was struggling to keep the tears out of her green eyes. Fury nodded and stood up and walked to the door stiffly. He looked like he wasn't certain of whether he wanted her to see Steve. She needed to see him, though. She needed to see for herself that he was breathing. Fury walked to the door and opened it. He gestured for Natasha to walk through first, so she did. She heard him close the door behind her as he stepped through. She waited for him to take the lead before she followed him.

She was in the general ward. There were doctors and patients roaming the halls. Patients with IV stands, patients in wheelchairs, patients with their friends and family. There was a constant drone of chitter chatter and a never ending sound of beeping that emanated through every other room. Some of the patients in the rooms were hooked up to heart monitors, others weren't. She followed Fury to the elevators and shook her head. "I want to take the stairs." She said. The elevator was taking too long to reach them. Fury led the way to the stairs and Natasha followed him up the tiled steps. She slipped a little in her socks, but managed to maintain her balance and keep up with Fury's fast pace. They left the staircase after climbing up two flights of stairs. The door leading out of the stairwell led into ICU. The beeping in ICU was louder, the sounds of struggled breathing and pained moans filled the halls. Nurses and doctors were rushing around. Natasha followed Fury towards the last private room in ICU. Steve's room.

"How are the other passengers?" Natasha asked. Most of them were uninjured, but there was no doubt that at least one or two had mild hypothermia. Natasha figured she did, too. Usually, she would be able to say with absolute certainty that Steve didn't have hypothermia, the serum protected him from that, but considering the serum was already being tested as much as it was, Natasha wasn't so sure of it anymore. They weaved through the nurses and doctors and family members of the patients.

"A few broken bones, a couple concussions, a few first degree burns, mild hypothermia." Fury said nonchalantly. They were outside the door that led into Steve's room. Natasha's heart was beating so fast that she could hardly hear herself think. She wasn't sure of what to expect behind that door. She wasn't sure of how bad Steve looked. When she had last seen him, he hadn't even been breathing.

The door was closed. Fury didn't walk in. He just nodded and stepped aside to make way for Natasha. She hesitated before stepping forward and slowly raising her stiff arms to open the wooden door. She swung it open slowly. The inside of the room was different to hers. It was bigger and whiter and there were more machines surrounding the bed where Steve lay. The thing that shocked her the most was Steve. He usually looked so big in comparison with everything and everyone else, but he looked so tiny in that bed. A white sheet covered his body until his waist. His upper body was covered by a white hospital gown that clearly showed the thick bandages around his left shoulder. His stomach was covered in thick bandaging that Natasha assumed was covering the incision the doctors had surely made to repair his internal bleeding and any internal damage. His entire chest was almost black with bruising, and it stood in stark contrast against the white hospital gown.

Wires and monitors and plugs were snaked under his hospital gown and attached to his chest. A tube was running out of his chest to feed out unwanted air in his lungs. Natasha knew what that meant. She had had a chest tube multiple times before. He had a pneumothorax. His left arm was hanging in a blue sling that was wrapped tightly around his upper body to prevent his arm from moving. His nose was black and blue and swollen. His eyes were almost swollen shut. A nasal cannula hung around his upper lip. His forehead and cheek and nose were covered in small gashes that had been stitched together. His forehead had a large gauze pad over it where a larger gash had been. His eyes were closed. He was breathing with the help of the oxygen being fed to him via the nasal cannula. He looked weak and vulnerable, and that scared Natasha more than she was willing to admit.

She reluctantly walked in and closed the door behind her. She walked closer to Steve and leaned on the metal rails on the side of Steve's bed. His face was so pale and drawn, and his hair hung limply over his clammy forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly. There was a slight grimace on his face, as though he could feel the pain even in the depths of unconsciousness. She searched the white room and found a small plastic chair in the corner of the room closest to the window. She dragged it closer to Steve's bed and sat down in it gingerly. She placed her bruised and battered hands on Steve's right hand and squeezed tight. She hadn't thought she was expecting a reaction, but clearly she was, because she was disappointed when she didn't get one. Steve remained motionless on the large hospital bed.

"You've made it this far, Rogers," She whispered in his ear as she stroked a strand of stray hair out of his face. He looked so young and so innocent and so fragile. She felt like she needed to protect him. He so often did the heavy lifting, he so often took on the responsibility of protecting those around him, whether he knew then and cared for them or not. Just that once, he was vulnerable, and he deserved to be protected. "Just make it a little further." The words hit Natasha hard. Steve was the one person she always thought she could believe would never be fighting for his life, but there he was, breathing with help of oxygen and covered in bandages that covered his burns and scrapes and incisions and wounds. It was strange how fast the tables could turn.

She sat there for a long, long time as she gently ran her finger along Steve's bruised and scratched arm. Her body ached and her head pounded and her arm stung, but she ignored it. Her green eyes scanned his body every few seconds, each time spotting a new cut or a new bruise or a new gauze pad. She stayed in the room for hours. She didn't leave even when the nurses pleaded for her to go. She didn't leave even when the doctors begged her. She didn't leave even when Fury dropped by to hand her a backpack with her own clothing in it. She changed in the room, unwilling to take her eyes off of Steve's prone figure. She didn't leave even when her doctor asked her to return to her own room to be monitored. Eventually, she forced the doctor to sign her out. He did, however reluctantly. Her vitals were stable, and she felt fine, if not a bit cold and achy. She needed to be there when Steve woke up. She needed to be there so that he knew he wasn't alone, but also because she needed to be there for herself. She _wanted_ to be there.

Eventually, she grew tired and her eyelids involuntarily drooped wearily as she sat beside Steve with her elbows resting on the mattress. Steve hadn't moved in hours. A simple groan was all it took to snap her back to full awareness. Steve groaned and his body shifted slightly under the sheet. Natasha's head shot up and her gaze fell on Steve's pale face. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched and his forehead was lined with sweat. He groaned again and Natasha shot to her feet quickly and stepped closer to him. He moaned and winced. His body tensed then relaxed. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and his face became twisted in a pained grimace. His hazy blue eyes searched the room frantically until they landed on Natasha. She leaned forward and rested a thin hand on his bruised and swollen cheek. His body was tense with pain and the monitors surrounding his head were beeping frantically. "Relax," Natasha said soothingly. "It's okay. It's okay."

Steve was trembling and his bandages became spotted with blood as his muscles tensed and contracted involuntarily. His blue eyes were clouded and unfocused, and he seemed like he was looking but not truly seeing. His breathing was erratic and labored. He groaned and winced and his eyes filled with unshed tears. It was terrifying. A doctor with black hair rushed into the room followed by a nurse with blond hair and they started fussing with the machines and tubes and lines. They worked efficiently and effectively and silently as they bustled around Steve's bed, occasionally bumping into Natasha. "Ma'am," The doctor said in a raspy voice. "You have to get out. We need to change his dressings."

Natasha's hand was wrapped tightly around Steve's, and he was squeezing her back gently, obviously physically restraining himself from pushing even harder. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain. Natasha stared at the doctor blankly for a while before saying, "Okay. I'll go." She sighed heavily and started walking away from Steve. Her hand lingered on his before she started to gently slip it off. But, before she could, Steve's hand wrapped around hers so tightly that she had to suppress a wince. He tugged at her desperately. His eyes were still closed.

"P-Please don't, Nat." Steve begged weakly. His voice was so soft and weak and pained. Natasha's heart shattered at the sound of it. He sounded desperate, and she was helpless. Nothing could relieve him of his pain. But, she could help him through it. "Don't leave me."

Natasha looked at Steve, then her gaze darted to the doctor. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head and shrugged. She stepped closer to Steve's bed and squeezed his hand tighter. "Never," Natasha said softly. "I'll never leave you."

So, she stayed. She watched as the doctor and nurse adjusted the back of the bed so Steve was sitting more upright. She held his hand tightly as his face contorted in agony at the movement. His bandages were getting bloodier, but there was not enough blood for the stitches to have torn. The nurse held Steve upright with Natasha's help as the doctor untied the back of the hospital gown and let it fall around Steve's waist. She gave his right arm a tight squeeze as the doctor undid Steve's sling, gently pulling it off his arm before placing it on the table by Steve's bed. A second nurse came in with a cart carrying bandages and disinfectant and gauze, then walked out again after staring at Steve in amazement. Natasha started stroking Steve's tense, trembling arm as the doctor gently peeled the bandaging off Steve's back and shoulder and stomach. Steve winced and his eyes screwed shut in pain, but he was being strong.

His back was a mess of burns and bruises and cuts, and the impalement wound that went through his shoulder was still huge and terrifying. His chest was black and blue and red with welts and scrapes and severe bruises. His stomach was littered with small surgical incisions surrounding a large one. Natasha couldn't look away from Steve's shoulder. The nurse apparently couldn't either. They doctor soaked gauze in disinfectant and gently wiped the wounds to clean off any blood. He checked each wound to ensure that the stitches were still all right. He gently palpitated Steve's chest, making Steve wince and tremble and yelp in agony as his broken bones were jolted slightly. The doctor started bandaging Steve up again, starting with his stomach and ending with his shoulder. He gently slipped Steve's hospital gown back in before slipping Steve's arm in the sling again. They lay Steve down slowly.

It was a slow and painful process, and by the end of it, Steve could hardly breathe and he had paled further and his eyes were swimming with unshed tears of agony. The doctor muttered something about checking up on Steve shortly, and that Steve was not to move nor get out of bed until the doctor gave him clearance. Natasha didn't listen to him, she was focused on calming Steve down. He could hardly focus on her long enough to achieve anything, though. The doctor nodded and walked out slowly. The nurse collected the multiple bloodied bandages and set off after the doctor, giving Natasha and Steve a sympathetic smile.

"Thank you," Steve whispered weakly. His hand was squeezing Natasha's so hard that she could feel her bones shift. She didn't care. She sat on the bed beside Steve and gently caressed his cheek. "For staying with me."

"I told you," Natasha said softly as she wiped tears off of Steve's temples. He was alive. Sure, he was in agony, and he wasn't fully lucid, and he was stuck in a hospital bed, but he was _alive_, and that was something. "I'm never going to leave you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys! Last chapter! I would like to say a HUGE thank you to all of you kind enough to follow or favorite, especially those of you who took the time to review. I'm so appreciative. And I'm happy you enjoyed my badly written story. Thank you so much. **

**Sorry for the incredibly late update! My phone crashed for a week and I lost all my notes, which means I lost all of my already written and edited chapters. It demotivated me a little so I put off rewriting the chapters for about two weeks. Hence the late update. Once again, sorry. The chapter is short but I didn't want to delay updating any longer. **

* * *

Natasha stood outside the interrogation room at SHIELD headquarters. It was a large room with grey concrete walls. A metal table was placed directly in the middle of it with a metal chair on either side. Harry sat in the chair facing the window where Natasha stood, her arms crossed and her foot tapping the floor both nervously and impatiently. Harry's blond hair was oily and unkempt, his blue eyes were dull, and he had large purple bags under his sullen eyes. A bandage was peeking out from underneath his shirt. Gauze pads covered his neck and face, obscuring the view of bad bruising and swelling that changed his appearance so dramatically that he hardly looked like the same person. Natasha had specifically requested to interrogate Harry herself, and, after a lot of begging and threatening, Fury had agreed. The only condition was that he interviewed Harry first.

She heard a door opening and Fury came into sight. He sat at the table, across from Harry. He leaned back nonchalantly and crossed his arms over his chest. Natasha could only imagine the intimidating glare he was giving Harry, if Harry's nervous expression was anything to go by. She heard Fury clear his throat, and Harry glanced around the room nervously. His gaze finally settled on the window where Natasha was standing. She felt like he could see her, like he was looking right at her, or right through her, despite the fact that she knew he couldn't. Then, Fury leaned forward and said, "Harry... I can call you Harry, right?"

Harry nodded nervously, gulping so loudly that Natasha could hear it. Her own heartbeat was quickening alarmingly. She almost felt sorry for Harry, watching him writhe under Fury's scrutiny, then she remembered how Steve had spent two whole days trembling and sweating and fighting the pain as his damaged body fought so hard to repair itself. She remembered the dozens of innocent civilians who had died in the poor attempt at suicide bombing. She remembered the families across the world who had lost loved ones. She no longer felt sorry for him. She wanted him to suffer. He deserved to suffer without mercy. And she wanted to be the cause of his suffering.

Five days. It had been five days since Natasha had woken up in the hospital. Harry had woken up shortly after her, but he had been too weak to be interrogated. She had spent nights awake beside Steve's bedside thinking about the moment when she could walk into the interrogation room and make Harry suffer. Steve had requested to be at the questioning, too, but he was still recovering from severe injuries, and Fury had blatantly refused. Though, Natasha knew Steve too well to think he would listen to Fury's orders. If he wanted to see Harry for himself, he would, injured or not.

"Well, Harry," Fury said, shifting in his seat and lowering his voice to a whisper just loud enough for Natasha to hear if she strained her ears. "You killed a lot of people. You know that, right?" Fury asked, and Harry nodded quickly. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated. He was sweating. Natasha could see the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead in the dim lighting of the interrogation room. He slowly lifted his cuffed hands and rested them on the desk. "Why did you do it?" Fury asked. He was managing to stay calm, but even Fury's patience had a breaking point, and Natasha hoped Harry would break it.

Harry stammered and stuttered and glanced around the room frantically. He had seemed so sure on the train, so confident, but without Luke and without power, he was nothing but a blithering idiot. "I, I um," he stuttered, scratching at his oily hair anxiously. "To kill the Prime Minister." Natasha saw Fury nod in understanding. The door beside her opened and Steve rushed inside, shutting the door behind him. He scooted in between Natasha and the brunette lady taking down notes beside Natasha. He was pale and bruised, his breaths were short and strained, his posture was hunched, but the light was back in his eyes. His arm was in a sling, demobilizing it so it was pulled close to his chest.

"Hey," he whispered softly. His voice was stronger, getting stronger every day. Natasha looked up at him, her green eyes scanning over his bruised and slightly swollen face before landing on his bright blue eyes. Her own body still ached and stung horribly, she still had a headache and her arm pulsed occasionally, but she was okay. And Steve was okay. Everything would be okay. _Eventually_. She smiled, her thick lips pulling into a small smile. Steve smiled back, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he did so.

"Hey." She said. Steve turned back to the interrogation room and focused his attention on Fury and Harry. Natasha watched him for a moment, memorizing the profile of his perfectly chiseled face. Then, she sighed contently and turned to face the interrogation room, too. Fury was in the middle of a question, and Harry had somehow managed to calm himself in the few minutes Natasha had looked away from the room. He was leaning back in his seat, his cold gaze focused on Fury as he tapped his fingers on the metal desk.

"You're going away for a long, long time, asshole." Fury said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest again. Harry had the audacity to laugh. Granted, it was a weak attempt at a cocky laugh, but the attempt alone was audacious enough. Fury slammed his fist on the counter and Harry jumped back in alarm. His facade started cracking again. "This is _not_ something to laugh about!" Fury yelled. "I guarantee you, you will never see the outside world again. And that, Harry, is not a threat, it's a promise."

Natasha turned to watch Steve and Fury's voice slowly started fading out. Steve was watching Fury intensely until he turned to look at Natasha slowly. She smiled and he smiled. His bruised nose scrunched a little and his blue eyes crinkled. Natasha's heart skipped a beat as she allowed her gaze to scan over his multiple grazes and bruises that were healing, slower than usual but healing nonetheless. They watched each other for a long time, just staring at each other silently. "How are you?" Steve asked, shifting his footing so he could lean against the wall.

"Okay," Natasha whispered. Steve's hoarse voice was so comforting because it was so familiar. He hadn't had a proper conversation with Natasha for almost an entire week since he had been admitted to ICU. Steve nodded and nibbled his bottom lip nervously. Natasha took a step forward so she was no more than two feet away from Steve. The lady behind Steve watched them until Natasha glared at her, then she jerked her head away and stared at the interrogation room through the window. Natasha could feel the warm breath from Steve's parted lips fanning over her face. It smelled of mint. "How are you?" She asked. She reached out and her hand gently brushed over Steve's. She let it linger for a moment before dropping her hand back to her side.

Steve hesitated before answering, "Good."

"Are you?" Natasha asked. She blurted it out, regretting it immediately. But she was right in questioning Steve. He didn't look okay. Sure, he was up and walking, but he was limping and struggling to breathe and pale and in pain. But she wasn't just talking about his physical injuries. He had experienced a lot on that train, just like she had, and she was still suffering the memories of the dead bodies and charred skin and destroyed train compartments and Steve suffering for hours without relief. He had hallucinated and cried and fought and struggled, and Natasha could do nothing but sit by and watch. It scarred her. It hurt her. And, if she was still affected by it, being the '_emotionless, trained assassin' _that she was, she was sure as hell that Steve was still affected by it too.

Steve frowned, taken aback by the question. He shook his head then sighed and slumped. Natasha stepped forward and hesitantly wrapped her arms around Steve. She squeezed him gently, cautious of his broken ribs and destroyed shoulder. She rested her head against his chest and he rested his head on top of hers. He wrapped his arm around her tightly and he took a deep, trembling breath. She felt safe. He towered over Natasha, but he felt so small in her arms. "No," he replied simply. "No."

"Me neither," she said. It was strange for her to show her vulnerability, to make herself feel exposed, but she felt comfortable around Steve. "But we will be." And she truly believed it with all her heart.

* * *

Natasha stood in the interrogation room in front of Harry. He was watching her nervously as she leaned back in the seat opposite him. Steve stood in the corner of the room, watching silently. The only sound was that of Harry's heavy breathing. He was sweating and shaking and his gaze kept darting between Natasha and Steve. "Luke is dead," Natasha said, leaning forward so her elbows rested on the table. Harry nodded and gulped loudly. "And he's the lucky one."

"I... I," Harry stammered, clearing his throat continuously. "I did what I believed was right."

"What you believed was _right_?" Steve repeated, stepping forward so he was standing beside Natasha. His face was scrunched up in anyone confusion as he glared at Harry intimidatingly. "_Killing innocent people is what you believe is right?"_ Steve yelled angrily. His previously slumped, pained posture had been replaced by a confident, threatening one, and his injuries suddenly looked a lot less scary.

"Listen to me, Harry," Natasha said softly. Her tone was soft, contradicting her harsh words. "You will regret the day you decided to commit an act of terrorism. You will regret it. And you will beg us for mercy. But you won't get it. You never will. Not now. Not ever. Not here. Not in England." Harry was being flown back to England in a few days where he would be tried and sentenced. The prime minister and presidents and innocent passengers would testify against him. Steve and Natasha would, too. He was never going to get off. Harry flinched back at the harsh words and unshed tears filled his eyes. He gulped and shifted in his seat. He buried his face in his hands. His hands were trembling.

"I hope your guilty conscience keeps you up at night." Steve said. His eyes narrowed and he bent down to stare at Harry.

"I don't have a conscience," Harry replied. His voice was shaky and weak and uncertain.

"Everyone does, even assholes like you."

* * *

Natasha and Steve sat in Steve's small apartment in Washington DC exactly seven days after Steve had been admitted to hospital. In the last day or so they had been personally thanked and congratulated by both the American president and Greek president and English prime minister. There had been long parties and ceremonies and talks and debates - all very boring in Natasha's opinion. There had been tears, by the politicians and family members, and there had been screaming and laughter and constant banter - all very tedious in Natasha's opinion. She and Steve had done what they had done because it had been what was right, they did not do it to be celebrated and worshipped. Nonetheless, Natasha appreciated the effort they had put in to pleasing her and Steve.

Steve had improved greatly. The sling was off but his arm still bothered him. He couldn't lift it too high and it hurt when people touched it. He couldn't lean back on it and he couldn't use it to do daily activities like pouring water or holding a knife. Not yet, anyway. His ribs were mostly healed, but laughing and coughing still pained him. His bruises were fading and his grazes were simply pink skin. His nose was no longer swollen, but only slightly bruised. Internal bleeding and gunshot wounds had healed completely. He was in a lot less pain. Natasha's wounds had basically healed. They no longer bothered her, and the general aches and pains were all but gone.

They sat on Steve's small beige couch and stared out at the sunset, taking in the magnificent reds and oranges and yellows that lined the sky. Steve's phone had rung countless times, probably Tony or Clint or Bruce checking up on them, but they had ignored it. They had been visited countless times by everyone on the Avengers squad. No sincere or emotional words had been exchanged, just general joking and laughing and teasing, but that was their way of saying they loved each other. Steve and Natasha didn't speak as they sat in Steve's small apartment. They didn't do much of anything except stare at the sky. They were sitting right next to each other, their shoulders almost touching but not quite. Natasha glanced down at her hand. It was resting directly beside Steve's. She absentmindedly moved it an inch and her pinky rested on his. He moved his so his entire hand enveloped hers. They sat like that for a long time. Natasha gazed at Steve's face. The orange light made his tan skin look golden and perfect and youthful.

He turned and faced her. He didn't say anything as he lifted his hand off of Natasha's and cupped her chin in it. She smiled and placed her hand on top of his. They just sat there like that, perfectly content with the comfortable silence. They sat there like that until the sun set and Steve's apartment was bathed in a silver light. Natasha dropped her hand and rested it on Steve's shoulder that was covered in a white shirt. Steve dropped his and rested it on Natasha's thigh. She could feel its warmth through the thick denim of her black jeans. Steve shifted in his seat so his one leg was resting on the couch and the other was hanging off of it, and his back was perpendicular to the back of the couch. Natasha did the same. Their knees touched. They still didn't speak. Their noses were only an inch or two apart. And they stayed like that.

"Do you dream about it?" Steve asked suddenly, his face crumbling in sadness and emotional agony. Natasha hesitated. She did dream about the crash every night. The dead bodies and crying passengers and Steve. Steve lying in her lap trembling and vomiting blood and crying and calling out for Bucky and Peggy. But she never told anyone about that kind of personal stuff. Her dreams and feelings were hers and hers alone. But Steve was different.

"Yes," she answered softly. Steve nodded and sighed in resignation. Natasha could see the thousands of unspoken emotions in his eyes. She knew exactly what he was thinking, so she cupped his chin in her hand and forced him to look her in the eyes. "We did everything we could, okay? You did everything you could, and you saved those people's lives." She said.

Steve nodded slowly and said, "I know, I just can't help but think about the people we didn't save."

"Thinking about it can't change it. You tried your hardest. Accept that. Accept that you did a good job." Natasha said. She couldn't help but think about how this scenario was the classic, '_pot calling the kettle black'._ But, her words, as hard as they were to put into practise, were true. They had tried their hardest. And they had the scars to prove it. Her hand dropped and rested on Steve's jeans clad leg. He nodded and smiled as best he could. His hand wrapped around hers.

About half an hour later, Natasha glanced at the clock on the wall in Steve's conjoined kitchen. It was almost ten o'clock. She cleared her throat and reluctantly pulled away from Steve. She moved to get up but Steve quickly wrapped his hand around her wrist and gently pulled her back down. She said, "I should go, Steve."

"No," Steve said quickly. Natasha's heart was beating fast and her face went hot as her cheeks turned a bright red. He placed his hand on her hip, then very slowly, very gently placed his other hand on her other hip, wincing as the motion pulled on his injured shoulder. Natasha's hands cupped Steve's face, and she gently ran her thumbs over the fading bruising on his cheeks. "Don't go," Steve said. He sounded so innocent and so vulnerable. It broke Natasha's heart. "Please."

"I have to." Natasha said. She didn't want to. She wanted to stay with Steve forever. But something way at the back of her muddled brain told her not to. She worked with him. She had never even considered him as a boyfriend, but looking at him in the moon's light, she could think of him as nothing less.

"No, you don't. Stay here, please." Steve begged.

"That's not a good idea, I - "

"Why not?" Steve said, cutting Natasha off. He stood up gingerly, barely suppressing a grimace, and he pulled Natasha up with him. Their noses were almost touching as they stood there and stared at each other. Their breath fanned over their faces. Natasha's heart was pounding against her chest. She was staring at the man in front of her, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Her palms were clammy and her mind was mush. She had feelings for Steve that were so strong that she couldn't even begin to describe them, never mind say them aloud. She shook her head and looked away, but Steve gently tilted her chin up and forced her to look at him. "Why not?" Steve repeated.

Natasha's heart quickened and she felt her throat constricting. Those feelings she refused to acknowledge were forcing themselves to be felt. "I - " she began, unsure of how to say what she was feeling. How do you put indescribable feelings into words? How do you put indescribable feelings you've never had before into words? "I think I might..." She mumbled, trailing off.

Steve didn't react. Not at first, anyway. He just looked at her. Then, he smiled and pulled her in closer and squeezed her so tightly that it made him groan in pain, but he still didn't stop. He held her in his arms for a long, long time. He understood the words she couldn't say. "Me too," he whispered in her ear. "So stay with me tonight, please."

"Always," Natasha whispered. Sure, things were bad now, the memories were fresh and the wounds were healing, but they would get better with time. Everything gets better with time. Everything was going to be okay eventually. And, as long as Steve and Natasha had each other, it would turn out alright. "_Always_."

"Always." Steve repeated.


End file.
